Like Fire and Rain
by motleygrrrl
Summary: Harry Potter has always hated Draco Malfoy—always, from the very first moment they met. And although Malfoy has returned for eighth year quiet and different, Harry still can't seem to let go of that enmity. But what happens when the day comes when Harry can no longer hate Draco? And will either of them have the courage to find out what's left between them once the hatred is gone?
1. Parts 1 & 2

A/N: Hello, Internet :) Before we get into anything, I have just a couple of warnings for all you lovely faces who have found your way here. What you're about to read is an eighth-year Drarry fic involving an angry, protective Harry, as well as a sad, slightly depressed Draco. There will be arguments and misunderstandings and an over-abundance of sentimentality and preciousness. There is also juuust a smidge of violence, both towards Draco (from douchebags) and in defense of Draco (from Harry). Mostly the only real warning here is a heads-up about the teenage violence contained in the plot. Oh yeah, and there is also some profanity and a bit of gay smut. I know how much some of us are into those two things.

But that being said, the warnings have officially now come to an end and it is time to begin. Welcome to the story :)

* * *

**Like Fire and Rain **

**Part 1**

This was the end.

Harry's life was over.

Never before had he been so certain of his doom.

Harry had survived the entire bloody war—every Death Eater, Snatcher, and Horcrux—only to be killed off _now_, when he was least expecting it, when his guard had been completely lowered and he had foolishly allowed himself to relax. It was so bloody fucking _unfair_. He had sacrificed everything in his life, _including_ his life, and it still wasn't enough to guarantee good fortune, apparently.

Why did the universe hate him?

Or, more importantly, why did Slughorn?

Oh sure, the man acted as though he was on Harry's side, as though he cared about the Gryffindor; his smile was always cheerful and friendly, as were the overly-familiar shoulder touches that the professor was making an annoying habit of indulging in every time they spoke. Why was everybody always thinking that Harry was so starved for physical contact? Or that it in any way comforted him? Why was everyone always thinking that Harry even needed comfort, like he was in some sort of constant state of grief?

Why was everyone always treating him like he was _broken_?

With an angry sigh, Harry kicked at the nearest stone wall in frustration. Whatever the reason behind the forced touches or the pitying comfort, it never made Harry feel anything but uncomfortable. But, like the trusting, naïve git that he was, he had taken it all in stride, borne it all in polite suffering and ignorant silence, only for Slughorn to turn around and do something like _this. _

Well, see if Harry ever went to one of _his_ stupid parties ever again. As if Harry even needed those stupid parties. There were plenty of _other _stupid parties he was always getting invited to, thank you very much. Slughorn would be the one regretting this in the end, Harry was certain of that. If Harry had to suffer as a result of this appalling decision—the man was most likely bloody pissed off his fucking arse at the time, _honestly_—then it was only fair that someone suffer right along with him. And at that moment, Slughorn deserved to be that person.

Kicking at the wall again, Harry raked angry hands through his unkempt hair, still fuming with frustration. In truth, if he was willing to be honest with himself, it felt good. He hadn't felt anger like this in months. Not since _before_. His heart was pounding in his chest, fire and adrenaline were coursing through his veins, searing through his body; Harry felt _alive_, in a way that he didn't always feel these days.

Leave it up to _him _to be the cause of Harry feeling any sort of rush of emotion in the heavy grey pallor everyday life now seemed shrouded in.

Pacing back and forth with long, indignant strides, Harry felt his extremely justified rage boiling within him with a restless, burning heat; his knuckles itched and he longed to _do _something, anything. He wanted to flee, chase, fight; wanted to run so far he would never find himself again, sprint so fast his heart would never stop hammering in his chest. Sometimes he really could not bear to remain still, halted and unmoving, cemented behind stone walls with nowhere to go, locked away in the castle with nothing to do but boring, mind-numbing mundane trivialities. Like fucking _homework._

He just wanted to run away from it all; he just wanted it all to end.

And it had.

Harry was doomed.

oOo

The large room sounded strangely silent.

The thought seemed an odd one, considering the actual amount of noise Draco could hear around himself. But despite the loud and layered sounds of flames hissing beneath ebullient cauldrons, the noisy rustling of parchment as students scanned the text, the scratch of quills as they scribbled notes, every squeak and scrape of chairs being adjusted atop the hard stone floor…for some reason, it all sounded flat and hushed to Draco's ears. The entire room felt mute.

Maybe his ears weren't working right. Maybe the reason Slughorn's announcement had filled him with such dread was that he had simply heard wrong.

_But no_, Draco mused, twisting a silvery strand of hair around one finger in thought, that would not explain why Potter's hearing had apparently failed as well, because there Potter sat, only inches away from the blond, stiff and rigid and positively radiating fury. The man was practically shaking with it, for god's sake, his fingers trembling with suppressed rage as he gripped a quill tight enough to snap the thing in half. The Gryffindor wasn't even pretending to read the text, and despite the quill still clenched in hand—about to shatter in his grasp at any second, surely—he had yet to take a single note.

A quiet sigh escaped Draco as he folded in on himself even more, hoping to curl up as small as possible to avoid the wrath of the dark-haired boy next to him. Judging by the vicious glares he kept shooting Draco's way every other minute, he clearly held the blond responsible for their current unfortunate situation. As if Draco would ever be responsible for _this_. For Merlin's fucking sake, was Potter really fool enough not to see that Draco hated this situation even more than he did?

With another sigh, Draco hunched further down in his seat. Of _course_ Potter was too blind to see that, the boy most likely thought his suffering to be the very absolute height of torment.

Heart pounding, Draco snuck a peek at the brunet out of the corner of one eye. The glare that had been directed at Draco most of the morning was now burning a hole—not literally, Draco really hoped that Potter was not _that _angry—into the surface of the table they were sat at.

But as Draco watched in rapt fascination—determinedly pretending that he was doing no such thing—the anger on Potter's face melted away to be replaced with a distinctly unhappy expression, one that lasted less than a second but sent an odd swoop of pity through Draco at the sight.

The next instant, however, the anger was back and Potter's eyes lifted to glare directly into Draco's own, who jumped a little at getting caught staring. Heart pounding fiercely, Draco considered the furious green gaze of the boy next to him as some part of himself wondered distantly if Potter had ever once, in the entire eight years of them knowing one another, ever looked at him with anything other than seething hatred or disgusted disappointment.

The glare sharpened and Draco knew he had his answer.

A sudden loud throat clearing snapped Draco's attention away from the enraged boy to his right, swinging back to land on Slughorn, and the blond was grateful for the excuse to look away. He could feel his face flooding with heat and did the only thing he could do to protect himself, immediately crumpling in on himself even more, hunching his shoulders and allowing his long hair to swing forward and curtain his face, helping to hide him from view of the others.

Especially Potter.

More than anything, Draco wished he could sink into the cold dungeon floor, simply melt away and vanish without so much as a whisper. He could vanish without a trace at that very moment knowing with certainty that no one would care. No one would even notice him gone. Sometimes he really could not bear being surrounded by so many others, locked away in the castle with no reprieve in sight, trapped behind cold stone walls in a cage full of people who loathed him and would love nothing more than to see him dead.

And Draco hated being confined there—he just wanted to disappear from it all. He just wanted it all to end.

oOo

"Calm down, Harry," Ron rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement, "it's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" Harry asked incredulously, nostrils flaring. "How is it not a big deal, Ron? It's going to last all the way through fucking _Christmas_, of course it's a big fucking deal!" Several heads swiveled in their direction, peering curiously at the three older Gryffindors tucked away in a corner of the slowly-emptying Common Room. "Are you saying you wouldn't be upset if it was you?"

"Not _that _upset," Ron shrugged, gesturing at Harry. "I don't think I would be taking it quite so personally, at least."

"Of course it's personal," Harry grumbled, squirming angrily around in his seat. "Slughorn chose _me _to torment. _I'm _the one having to suffer here."

"You're hardly the only one, Harry," Hermione said, voice sounding both pitying and far too amused for Harry's liking. "I'm sure that Malfoy is just as upset as you are."

"Do you have to say the prat's name?" Harry sighed, crumpling up a spare bit of parchment just to be destructive and lobbing it to the other side of the room just to be juvenile. "Christ, he wouldn't even _look _at me. The entire fucking time! He just sat there staring at the table, looking all sad and pathetic and hiding behind his stupid long hair."

Hermione raised one eyebrow, voice still sounding amused. "Well, it sounds like you were staring at him enough for the both of you."

Harry shot her a glare. "My point is,"—he maturely chose to overlook both her comment and her tone—"how is this whole partnership thing supposed to work out if the two of us can't even talk?"

"Have you actually tried?" Now even Ron sounded amused, and Harry turned his glare onto the red-haired traitor who dare call himself Harry's best friend.

"Of course I haven't tried," his jaw ached from gritting his teeth. "It's fucking _Malfoy_, Ron. Why don't _you_ try talking to the bloody wanker sometime?"

"Never actually had a real need to," Ron shrugged. "I'm sure if the day ever came, though, that I was left with no other option, I would at least be _able_ to."

"Oh, sod off," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "He's impossible to find out on his own now, you know that. None of the Slytherins wander about on their own anymore. And just because I'm stuck having to talk to him doesn't mean I want to talk to the rest of them. We had a _plan_, the three of us, a good plan! We were just going to ignore them all forever and hope they went away for the rest of eternity, you remember that!"

"Well, clearly the plan has changed," Hermione said lightly, hidden laughter coloring her tone. "But I'm sure you can handle it, Harry. You've handled much worse before, after all. Ron and I have every faith in you."

Swinging his glare between his two so-called friends, both of whom were fighting twitching lips, Harry felt his anger worsen. They weren't _listening_, and he decided to tell them that. "You're not listening," he growled, flexing his fingers and ignoring the growing itch in his knuckles whispering to him that it would feel really good to hit something right about now.

"Harry," Ron sighed wearily, peering at Harry with exasperation, "when it comes to Malfoy, we've already heard it. Several times over. When it comes to Malfoy, we have had every conversation under the bloody sun about the git. We don't need to listen because we've already _heard_. Term just started, Harry, _please_. For the love of Merlin, please don't make this another Malfoy year."

"A Malfoy year?" Harry repeated blankly, frozen with one hand in his hair. The way Ron spoke, it made Harry sound a bit mental; one might even say obsessed. Pathological, even. A heavy frown slid across his face. Harry was most definitely not obsessed—with anything. Especially not with Malfoy. Harry had plenty of other things in his extremely full and oh-so-nauseatingly-interesting life to focus on other than pratty, posh Slytherin albinos.

But when Harry attempted to come up with a solid example of something else in his life that he was able to get as equally riled up over, anything that made him _feel _the same way that Malfoy did—even if that feeling was scorching anger—he drew a blank. Blinking, he scratched his head and thought harder. Surely there was _something _else besides Malfoy that Harry was just as impassioned about.

"Can we just for once have a single school year where you are not constantly going on about the prat?" Ron asked seriously, staring directly into Harry's own confused gaze.

How often did Harry really speak about Malfoy?

"I don't talk about him that much," he argued, straightening in his seat. Sure, Malfoy had been the main topic of most—or possibly all, Harry hadn't thought to keep track, unlike Ron—of their conversations over the past forty-eight hours, but that was because of the current situation, not some sort of sick need Harry had to discuss the blond. It made it sound like the slimy git was even worth discussing—which he was clearly not.

The defensive statement made both Ron and Hermione snort loudly as their eyes widened in amusement. "Harry!" Ron sounded as though he was just barely holding back laughter, "You talk about him more than anyone else in the world! And I mean _anyone else_. In the _entire_ _world_. In the whole eight years of us all knowing one another, I don't think I've heard you talk about _anybody_ more than you do about Malfoy."

"That's not true," Harry continued to disagree, body feeling numb with disbelief. Surely it wasn't true…? Ron was just taking the piss as usual, or else simply being dramatic. There was no way Harry talked about Malfoy _that _much. Ron was wrong. "You're wrong," Harry told him, deciding that the redhead could only benefit from being made aware of just how wrong he was and learning from the obvious—and very, very incorrect—mistake.

"I'm not though, Harry." The expression on Ron's face was pitying and his voice was soft, and Harry felt his anger worsen at being patronized, as though he was some naïve, unaware child who did not yet know himself. "I'm your best mate and we've been through way too much for me to lie to you now. So, believe me when I tell you that this is all true, because I'm usually the one on the other side of that conversation. Trust me when I say that most of them are about him."

"No," Harry shook his head stubbornly, folding his arms and deciding that denial was his only real option. Ron was the mental one here, not Harry.

"Yes," Ron said back, copying Harry's crossed arms and sounding nearly as stubborn as the brunet.

Both boys narrowed their eyes at one another.

"Stop it," Hermione interrupted, glaring at the both of them. "You're both being ridiculous, this isn't even an argument."

"Yes, it is," they both responded at the same time, startling grins from all three Gryffindors.

"All we're trying to say, Harry," Hermione continued, smile fading as she looked him over with a serious expression, "is that there's nothing you can do about being partnered with him. Whether you like it or not, Slughorn paired the two of you together and there's nothing to be done but try to make the best of the situation. There's nothing to be gained from acting anything less than civilly towards one another.

"And, Harry," she continued, the expression on her face somehow becoming even more stern, "I know you're angry, but please don't take it out on him."

"What does that mean? Are you defending him?" Harry asked incredulously. "Or—or trying to protect him, or something? You're—Hermione! You're trying to protect him from _me_!"

"Of course not, Harry," Hermione scoffed, straightening in her chair and tucking a thick curl behind one ear. Harry watched it spring right back into place the moment her fingers were back in her lap. "But even you have to admit that you've never really had the best handle on your anger, and I know that you clearly dislike the current situation and clearly dislike Malfoy and I know you already dislike Potions on top of everythi—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, not needing a list of all the things in this world that he did not like. None of them had the sort of time needed to listen to such a long list. "Just say what it is you're trying to say."

"Harry," Ron cut in, sounding amused once more, "all she's saying is that you need to control your temper. Don't take your anger towards the situation out on him, is all. It's not his fault you two've been partnered. He's probably just as upset as you are, so just don't punish him for it."

The other two Gryffindors were silent as they stared at Ron in surprise, mouths slightly open.

"It's what _Hermione _was saying!" Ron defended, eyes widening at the looks he was receiving. "I was just summing up what _she _meant, _I_ don't care what you do to him, Harry! Take all your wrath out about everything on the sodding git for all I bloody care! Just, you know," he shrugged, "don't whinge on to me about it afterward."

"_Whinge_?" Unable to formulate a proper response, Harry could only gape in disbelief as strong, sticky fingers made of his own sudden and very well-justified anger gripped him tightly, paralyzing him in his seat and holding his entire body still. "You lying prat, I don't bloody _whinge_! Especially about Malfoy!"

Ron held both hands out palm up in a sign of surrender. "I guess we'll see, then, won't we?" he said lightly.

"Yes, we will," Harry narrowed his eyes. "We definitely fucking will."

oOo

Harry felt rooted to the spot. His legs felt odd—heavy and stiff—almost as if all the muscles and bones and blood inside them had all been taken out without his awareness and somehow replaced with sand, weighing him down and making moving much harder than it should be. Had walking always been this difficult? Or was it the intended destination making his feet drag this slowly?

Sighing heavily, Harry squared his jaw and straightened his spine, taking a deep breath as he opened the door and crossed the cold room, ignoring all the sets of eyes he could feel assessing him. The blood was racing through his veins, making him feel light-headed and tingly. What was it he was feeling? Was this…was he _nervous_? Harry frowned. How could he be nervous? What the hell was he supposed to be nervous _of_?

Still frowning, Harry glanced around the Potions room and sighed as he realized he had already reached the station he had been headed to, the one he would now be sharing with Malfoy for the next few months. _Christ_, though, Harry could not believe his misfortune. Was killing Voldemort and ridding the world of the evilest human being on the face of the earth really not worth enough karmic points to prevent something like this? Why was Harry still being punished?

Another sigh escaped him as he sank down onto a hard stool in defeat, silently unpacking his bag before glancing at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy had already set up everything they would need and was quietly reading their Potions text, scribbling the occasional note on a nearby parchment.

Taking advantage of Malfoy's adamant, unblinking focus on the notes spread before him, Harry turned his head to the side to study the blond more openly, frowning as he cast an eye over the full length of the lanky teen's body. Even though the war was long over, Malfoy still looked much thinner than he should, his pale face appearing hollow and sharp, but in a way that was somehow different from the gaunt, haunted look that had clung to him so viciously only months past. His cheekbones caught Harry's eye, looking sharp enough to slice glass, pointy and angled, yet at the same time also somehow delicate and breakable, appearing to be carved from cold porcelain instead of warm flesh. The unexpected fragility of the man's features in contrast with his sharp jawline and dramatic bone structure was a startlingly pretty effect, especially when curtained by long silky sheets of silvery-blond hair. Harry's eyes followed the sharp sweep and fierce cut of the pale face before him, and he could not help but stare as those damn cheekbones caught his attention once more.

Still taking notes, Malfoy continued to purposefully ignore him, and Harry decided that if he was going to be ignored so openly, he may as well continue to stare so openly at the one ignoring him. Mumbling something to himself, Malfoy reached one hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, twirling the ends around one finger as he chewed on his rather pouty bottom lip.

But as Malfoy lowered his hand back to the table, Harry nearly gasped, his breath catching as he noticed something he had never seen before. There! On Malfoy's earlobe…was that an _earring_? Was Malfoy's ear _pierced_? Were _both _of his ears pierced?

What the bloody hell?

Harry's eyes narrowed as he studied the piece of jewelry sticking through Malfoy's earlobe. It was small; Harry bent closer to get a better view and saw that it was a tiny skull made of gleaming silver with two sparkling diamonds for eyes. The sight of it in Malfoy's ear was so ridiculously unexpected that Harry felt as though he could now look at nothing else.

After all, what the hell else was there to look at in the whole entire world when Draco Malfoy was sitting right next to Harry, wearing _earrings_?

Feeling both intrigued and slightly mesmerized by the sight, Harry had not even realized how close he had gotten to Malfoy until the blond suddenly turned his head to the side and his breath caught audibly at their proximity. Automatically, Harry froze in response, a quiet gasp escaping him as both boys studied one another with cautious eyes. There was something in Malfoy's gaze, something hooded lurking just beneath the surface of his stare that made Harry suddenly want to open his mouth and begin spouting endless questions of the Slytherin.

Harry blinked.

In response, Malfoy quirked a silver brow at him, sweeping his gaze curiously down Harry's body before turning back to his notes.

Heart pounding wildly, Harry also turned away from the other boy, staring down at the cold stone tabletop instead and attempting to calm his racing mind.

But for the rest of the day, Harry could not help but wonder what Malfoy had been thinking as they'd stared into one another's eyes in wary silence, just as he could not help but remember the way Malfoy's gaze had traveled over his entire body before looking away.

oOo

Potter was planning to kill him.

That was the only reasonable explanation that Draco could come up with for why the Gryffindor had been staring at him so intensely all throughout the horrendously-long Potions hour. Potter wanted him dead and was actively coming up with ideas to make that happen.

Sighing sadly, Draco bit his lip and attempted to swallow down the sad realization that nearly the entirety of the wizarding world wished Draco dead; Potter's hatred was neither unexpected nor uncommon. Far too often these days, Draco wondered whether he should just do the world a favor by ending his own life for them and saving them all the hardship of having to deal with his hated existence. Surely that _must _be better than all the constant Howlers and daily hate mail, all the jinxed envelopes containing cursed letters and unrepeatable threats, the angry shouts echoing down corridors from the swarms of glaring students, the constant terror that swept through him every time he felt someone approach from behind. Death surely had to be better than the tiny, lost, insignificant feeling that had taken up permanent residence inside him, reminding Draco every single day—whispering to him every single minute—that he was worthless and unloved, inconsequential and alone, useless and unimportant. The voice said he didn't matter, and Draco knew the voice was right. It was the same voice always reminding him that not a single person cared about him, not a single person would be sorry if he died. It was the same voice that reminded him that the vast majority of the population would most likely be _happy_ to see him dead; his death would bring smiles to entire scores of faceless strangers. It would bring happiness to others in a way that Draco no longer seemed capable of achieving himself anymore.

Draco could honestly no longer remember what happiness felt like.

The days all seemed to blend into one, a single grey canvas stretching out into a long blank stretch of terrifying nothingness, summing up everything he felt and everything he saw and everything he had to look forward to in his dismal future, the one that was just as bleak and empty as the present was. What did Draco have to live for, really?

His home life was destroyed beyond repair and his family a broken thing of the past, both parents now residing in separate cells of Azkaban and both ineligible for visitation for at least two more years. And along with his family, his two oldest friends were both gone as well, one dead from the war and the other hopelessly lost to grief. Draco didn't even have Quidditch anymore, since his entire team now feared him and thought him a disgusting representation of the House of Slytherin and their desperate new image of absolute reformation, fearing terrible ramifications if they dare even associate with him.

Not that it mattered much, anyway, even if his old team did still want him. Along with his past love of the sport—something Draco could hardly even recall the feeling of—all of Draco's beloved broomsticks were now gone, sold off to pay both his parents' and his own legal fees, despite it being nearly impossible to find a solicitor willing to take their case. And the one that had had nearly robbed him blind all whilst doing as little as he could to aid in their defense, resulting in the life sentences of both his parents. Even now, the blond was unsure as to why the Wizengamot had agreed to strict probation for Draco as opposed to jail time.

Rubbing both temples, Draco laughed bitterly to himself in his own head before flopping back on his mattress and staring up at the ceiling with indifferent eyes. Would the world look any less grey if viewed from behind steel bars? What did Draco even still have in this world?

Christ, not even his owl had survived.

Mouth suddenly trembling, Draco thought back to his gorgeous eagle owl, the one that used to bring him sweets every day with the morning post, the one he had had since he was eight, the one who would sit on his shoulder as he carefully fed her scraps of his breakfast with his fingers and nuzzle his ear as she listened to the happy gossip of his friends. Draco's eyes burned as he tried so very desperately not to relive that awful, horrible night when Mulciber had killed her. It would remain seared into Draco's memory forever, haunting him to his dying day—he would never, ever be able to forget the deranged look in Mulciber's eyes as he screamed and howled with drunken laughter, blasting ancestral portraits and priceless works of art off the Manor walls with manic glee right before slicing the owl from the air with a slash of his wand as she swooped through the room on her way back to her perch in Draco's chambers, the man's wild, crazed laughter gaining volume as her broken body fell. Draco's fingers clenched into fists as he tried desperately not to think of the sight of her suddenly dropping to the ground in separate, broken heaps, feathers twisted grotesquely and once-beautiful body cleaved in two; he dug his nails into his palms as he tried his hardest not to remember the sound of the two very distinct thumps he had heard as both halves of her body hit the drawing room floor, or the insane cackles of his mad aunt as she congratulated Mulciber on his aim.

A tear slipped free and slid slowly down Draco's cheek, cold and tickly, and he scrubbed it away with an angry palm, attempting to swallow his grief and control his breathing as he wondered, for possibly the hundredth time that day, what exactly it was that he was living for.

Try as he might, he could not think of one single thing.

**Part 2**

Limbs still trembling and heart still racing furiously, Harry attempted to control his shaky breaths as he leaned back against the stone wall of the narrow corridor he had found himself in, closing his eyes and willing his pulse to slow. God, he honestly was not sure how much longer he could do this, how much longer he could force himself to smile at all the naïve, simpering masses begging him to tell them his story, forcing him to acknowledge their pain and their losses, demanding that he empathize with them, demanding that he feel every scrap of pain they felt.

Christ, he still wasn't even sure where the mob had _come_ from. He had been walking down a corridor toward the Gryffindor Tower when suddenly, he was surrounded on all sides by dozens of students from various Houses, all swarming close with grabby hands and effectively trapping him in the middle of the large group as they screamed their gratitude and begged him to recount the night of the Final Battle, attempting to force him _yet again _to relive that awful, horrible night, pleading with him to shake their many faceless hands, to learn their names and all their losses, demanding to see the scar hidden beneath his unruly bangs.

"Harry! We're so grateful—"

"Thank you, Harry! Thank y—"

"—want you so much more now, you're the most perfect—"

"You're a hero, Harry—"

"—so brave and selfless—"

"—you're _my _hero, Harry!"

"Tell us what it was like as you faced down You-Know-Who—"

"—would surely have died without you—"

"I love you, Harry!"

"—still think of your parents all the time? I certainly would—"

"—brother was killed that night! We were both right there with you, fighting right alongside—"

"Please go to Hogsmeade with me!"

"—still have nightmares?"

"Harry Potter! I love you!"

"Date me, Harry, please—!"

"—anyone else would have been terrified, you were the only one brave enough—"

"Do you remember me, Harry?! I was _there_ that night, I _saw_—"

"—feel as if I really know you, in a way no one else—"

"—play Quidditch! You must know the most brilliant tricks!"

"—_understand _you, Harry, I really do!"

"—the suffering you went through, you poor thing—!"

"I love you, Harry!"

"—the horrible things you must have seen, I can only imagine—"

"How often do you visit your parents' graves?"

"What did You-Know-Who really look like up close? Was he as terrifying as everybody—"

"—lost nearly my entire family in the war—"

"I love you!"

"—hope they track down and kill every last one of his followers—"

"Show me your scar!"

"—cried so hard when Dumbledore died, I'll never forget that night—"

"—kill every worthless Death Eater scum still alive—"

"—be perfect together, the two of us—"

—prison's not enough for them!"

"Harry! I love you!"

"—always wanted to see your famous scar!"

"—can't believe you were only _one _at the time—!"

"—surely you must want to see them dead even more than I do—"

"—love you, Harry!"

"—ever been back to see the house your parents died in?"

"Please, Harry—!"

"Show me your scar!"

"—completely in love with you—"

"—the scar!"

"You're a hero!"

"SHOW US YOUR SCAR!"

And all Harry could do was gape wordlessly as the throng pressed in even closer, reaching out to touch any part of him they could reach, grasping at him with claw-like fingers until he felt as though he would surely suffocate beneath the smothering onslaught, feeling overwhelmed to the point of dizzying terror.

Slipping his wand from his sleeve as his heart pounded hard enough to make him feel faint, Harry cast a wide shield charm around himself before beginning to shove his way through the endless crowd, forcing a path through the glassy-eyed admirers before he was finally able to tug his Invisibility Cloak out from his bag and hastily throw it over himself. The second it was on, he ran for what felt like his very life, grateful that his ringing footsteps were drowned out by the shouting of the crowd, screaming for him to come back, most of them running after him despite not knowing which direction he had disappeared in.

Harry didn't stop running until he was absolutely certain there was nobody following him, feeling dangerously light-headed as he ducked into a narrow corridor hidden behind a large tapestry. "Fuck," he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in the safe darkness of his palms and breathing deeply for several minutes, holding the inhalations in his lungs for as long as he could as he tried desperately to calm himself. He would never, ever get used to the frenzied and oftentimes demanding attention that the swarming mobs of the wizarding world forced on him against his will. At school, it was not normally so manic as that; not like it was outside the castle. Harry shuddered as he thought back to the first and only time he had attempted to visit Diagon Alley after the war. Just the memory alone was nearly enough to send him into a full-on panic attack.

"Fuck," he repeated in a whisper, drawing several deep breaths and holding them before lowering his hands with a sigh as he glanced around himself. The corridor was dark and deserted, stretching straight ahead of him before curving out of sight. He wasn't entirely sure where it led to, but he sure as hell was not going to exit the way he had come and risk running into the mob once more.

Setting off with only slightly trembling knees, Harry tightened the Cloak around himself as he followed the dimly-lit corridor, wishing for possibly the hundredth time that day that he could be anyone other than himself. What he wouldn't give to not be Harry Potter, even if it was only for one day. He would give anything to not be himself sometimes, anything to not be the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He would give anything to feel safe and happy, and he was certain that he would never feel either of those two things ever again as long as he was Harry Potter.

If he was being honest with himself, he could not remember the last time he had felt truly safe, instead of the horrible, empty, suffocating feeling that had taken up permanent residence in the hollow of his chest. Every day felt more smothering than the last, and Harry was certain that it would one day be too much for him and he would simply keel over with no warning, lips blue from a lack of oxygen as the life was slowly strangled out of him by the overwhelming and unrelenting expectations and demands that the rest of the world seemed determined to heap upon his exhausted shoulders. When did Harry finally get a break? He had thought that things would be so much better after the war; he hadn't thought that it would be like _this_. Without a doubt, he knew that the world really was an unarguably better place without the existence of Voldemort, but it was still so very different from how Harry had imagined it would be. Harry felt so different from how he had imagined he would feel.

"_You're a hero, Harry…"_

His heavy steps slowed as he laughed bitterly to himself. He was nobody's hero, and if the world knew the _real _Harry Potter, none of them would ever accuse him of being their hero ever again.

And that was the only way that Harry would ever be free.

Sighing despondently, Harry tugged the Cloak tighter around himself, knowing that the only time he felt even relatively safe these days was hidden beneath its invisible folds.

Ready to heave yet another morose sigh, Harry paused as he heard what he thought to be a sniffle from up ahead. _Fuck_. His heart started pounding wildly, pulse immediately rocketing as he halted in his tracks, certain that the mob had somehow managed to track him down. Chest hammering, he stood frozen near the wall, heart thumping frantically for several moments in the loud silence before taking one cautious step forward. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sound again, even louder than before, but this time it was accompanied by a quiet sob.

Head tilted curiously, Harry began to creep forward with slow footsteps, reminding himself that the mob would be much louder than the sound of one solitary individual crying, and even if they _were_ there, Harry still had the distinct advantage of being invisible.

Feeling somewhat more confident, Harry quickened his pace, moving as silently as he was able to under the Cloak, sneaking closer and closer to the source of the crying. He wasn't sure why exactly it was that he was so curious, other than the fact that the person, whoever they were, sounded exactly as Harry felt. It was a sound beyond sadness and beyond even grief; this person sounded _lonely_, so very, very lonely, and loneliness was something that Harry understood more intimately than any other emotion he could name. His footsteps slowed as he rounded a bend, halting completely as he turned the corner only to nearly stumble into a figure hunched on the floor, sitting with his back to the wall and his legs drawn up to his chest, head bowed and face hidden in his knees.

Harry's heart rate immediately picked back up at the sight of the boy on the floor, because even without being able to see his face, Harry would still recognize Malfoy's hair anywhere. The long, silvery strands cascaded down Malfoy's shins and covered his black trousers in a platinum curtain as his slim frame shook with quiet sobs, face still buried in his knees as his shoulders trembled from the force of his crying.

Harry could only stare.

Just like the first time he had witnessed it, the sight of Draco Malfoy crying forced Harry to a frozen stop, unable to do anything but watch with horrified, pitying eyes at the sight of the once-proud Slytherin crumpled in a heap on the cold stone floor of a hidden corridor, sobbing in a way that nearly broke Harry's heart.

Without warning, Malfoy's head jerked up and looked directly at Harry, whose pulse went into overdrive at the certainty that Malfoy had caught him watching and was now about to hurl a _Crucio _at him for once again walking in on a crying, vulnerable Malfoy not wanting company.

But the blond only craned his neck and peered down the corridor, confusion creasing his forlorn face, and it was at that moment that Harry noticed the bruises. Malfoy's eyes were puffy and swollen, and Harry would have believed it was from the tears still streaking his pale face if not for the large purple tinges coloring the very cheekbones that Harry had been unwillingly admiring only just a few days ago. As Harry continued to stare, Malfoy lifted a hand and placed it gingerly against his ribcage, wincing as he inhaled. His lip was split and eyebrow bloody as he gave up on looking down the corridor, leaning his head back to rest against the wall, and even in the dim lighting, Harry could see dark finger-shaped bruises outlined on the Slytherin's slender throat. The sight made Harry's heart constrict painfully in his chest.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," Harry breathed, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be invisible and that he was also supposed to hate Malfoy. But the sight of the hated-Slytherin sitting there bloody and bruised, crumpled and defeated on the cold stone floor with teary cheeks and desperate misery pouring out of his thin frame with every trembling sob released, left Harry floundering uselessly for the feeling of contempt that he had been so certain would always rear up within him at the sight of Malfoy.

But it just wasn't there.

At the sound of Harry's muttered oath, Malfoy's neck snapped up, staring directly through Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Who's there?" the blond demanded in a raspy voice, and Harry's felt his heart twinge painfully at the sound of it.

What the hell had _happened_ to the Slytherin?

"Look," Malfoy began wearily, dropping his head and burying his face once more between his knees in defeat, "if you're here for another go, then fine, I won't stop you." He paused to press a careful hand to the same spot on his ribs, wincing as a dark chuckle escaped him. "I honestly couldn't even attempt to run at this point. But," his eyes narrowed dangerously as his neck snapped back up, glaring right through Harry and his pounding, aching heart, "at least don't sneak around and hide in the shadows like a coward. Just come out and face me, like a fucking _man_, and get it over with already."

Stomach churning with nausea, Harry watched as Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, exposing the smooth column of his bruised throat, and Harry felt his own throat close up in sympathy, finding himself unable to do anything more than stand there uselessly, staring as still and silent as a statue as Malfoy remained just as unmoving.

Harry had no idea how to respond.

He had never imagined that he would ever be able to _feel_ this much for Draco Malfoy, the boy he had actively and unashamedly hated for eight long years, but standing there, watching his silent defeat, tore at Harry in a way that he had not been expecting. The sight of Malfoy so broken and bruised seemed to sever something in Harry's chest; his heart ached with the sudden urge to wrap the injured Slytherin up in his arms and gently wipe every silvery tear away; it made Harry want to sprint him all the way to the Hospital Wing to be healed, all the way to the Headmistress' office to demand that the Slytherin be protected—hell, it made Harry want to be the one to protect him.

At that thought, Harry released a sharp breath, causing Malfoy's eyes to snap open with a glare.

"Just fucking come out already!" he growled harshly, voice sounding sore and gravelly. "You lot have already proven a dozen times over that you don't need a Disillusionment Charm to kick the shit out of me, so I honestly don't understand what you're bloody fucking waiting for! Are you wanting me to come down there and investigate? Go wandering down the dark corridor looking for attackers? I have to warn you, it won't be much of a surprise when you all jump me." Sighing heavily, he once again leaned his head back against the wall as his eyes slid shut, revealing blackened lids.

Harry's heart constricted at the sight.

"Just get it over with already," Malfoy said quietly, voice small, and it was then that Harry noticed that, despite the bravado and perceived resignation to his fate, Malfoy's fingers were trembling where they rested on his knees.

And Harry could no longer just stand there.

Silently, he slid the Cloak from his shoulders, folding it nervously in his arms before speaking in the softest tone he was sure he had ever used with the Slytherin. "Malfoy," he began, startling as Malfoy's body jerked up at the sudden sound, only to sink back against the wall with a heavy groan, wrapping both arms around his torso and whimpering softly as he clenched his eyes shut in pain, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Fuck, Malfoy," Harry dropped to his knees beside the blond, hands fluttering uselessly over him. Fuck, how much pain was Malfoy really in? What the hell had those sick bastards even done to him?

The sound of his name caused Malfoy's eyes to snap open, fixing immediately on Harry, who felt suddenly frozen in the silver glare meeting his own worried gaze.

"Potter," Malfoy chuckled darkly, but then immediately winced, holding his ribcage even tighter as he dropped his eyes. "Of _course_ it's you. Of course it is. I was wondering when you would finally get around to tracking me down like this." He spoke with his gaze locked firmly on his own knees, silver hair swinging forward to shield his face from view, and Harry's fingers itched with the urge to sweep it aside.

"Well," Malfoy sighed impatiently, eyes sliding shut. "Get on with it, then."

"Er," Harry stammered, unsure of just what to say or how to help, "Get on with what?"

At the question, Malfoy cracked one eye open to glare at the brunet. "What the fuck do you think, Potter?" he spat viciously, flinching and rocking back with a prolonged moan.

The pained sound felt as though it would wrench Harry's heart in two.

"Malfoy," Harry could hear an edge of panic in his voice, "what the hell happened to you? Who the fuck _did _this?"

The dried blood lining Malfoy's temple cracked as he raised one silvery eyebrow at Harry, not speaking for several moments. "Your admirers," he said finally, turning his head away in an attempt to surreptitiously wipe the tears from his bruised cheeks before propping one arm on his knees and leaning back against the stone wall. "As much as they adore you, Potter," he laughed again as he spoke—a dark, broken laugh tumbling free from his injured chest—and Harry felt chilled at the sound, "they hate me even more." A sudden sob wracked Malfoy's frame violently, forcing an anguished gasp from between his blood-stained lips accompanied by a heavy flinch as he jerked upright with a cry loud enough to startle Harry, the blond squeezing his own midsection tightly as he whimpered in agony. "Please, Potter," he gasped, fresh tears leaking from between his clenched eyelids as he held himself as stiffly as possible, "just—please, just—fucking—just—fuck! _Just get it over with already!"_

"But…I…er…" Harry gaped at him wordlessly, mouth opening and closing like some stupid, useless goldfish, unable to find anything helpful in his brain to say. "But, Malfoy…fuck_, _Malfoy, _who the fuck did this to you_?!" The question rang out harshly along the corridor, echoing down the darkened hallway, and Harry immediately regretted his tone as Malfoy flinched sharply, drawing in a pained breath as he clutched at his torso.

"Malfoy," Harry said softly, reaching out to touch the other boy lightly on the shin, praying to god he wasn't bruised there as well. "Malfoy, I'm not here to hurt you, I swear it. I didn't even know you were down here."

Resting his pale forehead against his knees with a pained expression, Malfoy rolled his head to one side to peer at Harry with empty eyes. "That is literally the only reason anybody ever tracks me down on my own these days, Potter," he said softly, eyes still steadily leaking tears. "I cannot believe that you would be any different, especially considering it is all done in your name. So, please," he continued wearily, speaking louder as Harry opened his mouth with a glare to argue that statement, "please, just get it over with already. I will not deny that you have more of a right than almost any other individual."

With a heavy sigh, Malfoy tucked his face back between his kneecaps, silent and waiting. His only reaction was a rather violent jump as Harry placed a careful hand on the Slytherin's shoulder, fumbling for his wand with the other. As Harry finally wrestled it from his sleeve and grasped the handle between sweaty, nervous fingers, Malfoy chose that moment to look up, grey eyes growing wide with fear as he stared without blinking at the wand now pointed directly at his face.

"Please, Potter," he said quietly, his entire body suddenly relaxing in a way that confused Harry for all of two seconds, until Malfoy finished speaking and all Harry was left with was a feeling of horrified dread burning through his chest, "please. Just finish it already. I would honestly rather it be you than some angry, faceless stranger whom I've never met before but still blames me for their every misfortune.

"Please," he pleaded softly again, speaking in a resigned voice. "Please, Potter, just—god, just _finish _it already."

Swallowing heavily, Harry nodded once, throat closing as Malfoy's eyes slid shut with a small smile lighting his face gratefully, slender body melting back against the stone wall as he patiently waited for Harry to end his life.

oOo

Everything hurt.

Absolutely _everything _hurt.

Draco's body entire body throbbed with pain, shivers of agony wracking through him from head to toe every time he shifted, every time he so much as fucking _breathed._

He had barely been able to stumble away from his attackers, somehow managing to cast both cloaking and silencing spells over himself through a combination of survival instinct and wild magic before clumsily staggering away from the deserted corridor he had been jumped in, leaving the enraged assailants whipping their heads round in confusion as they searched for him to ever-growing fury, and the sound of their heightened anger made Draco shuffle away even faster, despite the exorbitant amounts of pain wracking his entire body, desperate to get as far from that corridor as he could.

Before the attack, Draco had been strolling down that particular hallway in indifferent dejection, sad gaze locked firmly on the ground, when suddenly he looked up to find himself surrounded by four others, all wearing matching looks of contempt.

His heart had dropped and his stomach churned with nausea, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

The four had started out with taunts and jeers, stepping into his space and tossing him around with rough hands, passing him back and forth between the lot of them with hard shoves and nasty threats. Then he had made the mistake of trying to flee with no clear exit in sight, causing one of the boys to catch him by the hair and drag him back with a callous grin, tugging harshly and wrenching a cry from Draco's lips before the other boy sank his fist into Draco's stomach. And as Draco doubled over, gasping in pain, another boy's knee suddenly slammed up into his face, catching him across the brow and sending him flying back to land in a dazed heap on the floor, touching his forehead gingerly before attempting to scramble away.

And that's when it really began.

Before he knew it, he was being kicked at from every direction, fists and feet raining down on him mercilessly as the four boys spat cruel slurs and death threats at him, not even giving Draco time to suck in pained gasps before another vicious blow would land.

Without warning, a hand suddenly reached down and seized a fistful of his long blond—and oh, how Draco had wished at that moment that it wasn't so very long— hair at the very base, wrenching him up to balance precariously on his bruised knees, whimpering in pain as the hand squeezed tighter and tighter, ripping several strands out at the root as a voice growled a steady stream of homophobic jeers to the other boys, the insults mostly all centered around the length of Draco's hair and his skinny frame, heart pounding at a wild rate as hot, sour breaths were panted smugly against the bloodied shell of his ear.

The same boy holding him by the hair used the opportunity to smash his fist into Draco's face, and Draco was unable to move. Fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed viciously, and Draco saw tiny black dots beginning to cloud his vision; he could not breathe, he could not think, he could not escape. There were so many times he had thought that he would die within the walls of Hogwarts, but he certainly had never imagined it would be like _this._

Not like _this_!

A sudden fusillade of lightning sparked through the air around them without warning, crackling along Draco's entire body as it threw the four boys away from him with a loud BANG. His skin glowed eerily for several moments as he began to stumble away from his attackers, his flesh feeling nearly white-hot until suddenly, Draco had somehow been shielded from sight in a way he would have once thought to be impossible, listening with a whimper of relief as the four boys behind him shouted in furious confusion, angry voices growing softer and softer as Draco limped further away.

Finally, he reached a narrow tapestry guarding an even narrower passageway, one that Draco ducked into with a grateful sigh, hobbling as far up it as he was able to before collapsing in a pained heap on the stone floor, biting his lip against the overwhelming wave of agony that washed over him as he landed heavily on fresh injuries.

The corridor was mercifully dark, allowing Draco peace and blessed silence, finally allowing him the chance to curl in on himself and weep for what his life had become.

Until Harry Potter came along and ruined everything.

oOo

Harry was not sure if he had ever felt more useless in his life. Sitting there, watching Draco Malfoy ask so resignedly for his own death…it tore at Harry in a way that he honestly would never have expected to be possible. If anyone had told him even an hour ago that he would soon be sitting on the floor of an abandoned corridor, eyes burning in sympathy for _Malfoy_, feeling the insane urge to gather the trembling boy up in an embrace and whisper that everything would be okay, that Malfoy was safe now, because Harry would not allow any more harm to come to him…Harry would most likely have laughed in their face.

But now…

"I'm not going to hurt you, Malfoy," Harry told him quietly.

Malfoy's eyes snapped open to meet Harry's own, and Harry was not certain at all what emotion was reflected back at him from within the silver pools of Malfoy's—pretty, so fucking _pretty, _how had Harry never noticed how pretty they really were?—deep grey eyes.

"That makes just you, then," the blond rasped, voice still sounding hoarse and pained, and the sound made Harry instantly furious, longing to track down whatever sick bastards had done this to Malfoy and vowing to make them pay.

Silently, Harry placed one finger under Malfoy's chin and gently tilted it up, studying his bruises in the dim lighting. The sight of them made Harry feel sick. Malfoy's lip was badly split and his nose bloodied, both eyes purple and blackened, directly below a large gash spreading along his forehead and temple, crusted in dried blood.

Gritting his teeth and forcing down his fury, Harry began to quietly murmur the very limited amount of healing charms he knew, tracing his wand over the wounds and watching as they began to close and gradually vanish, leaving Malfoy's skin still slightly puffy and swollen, covered in dark flakes of dried blood and a slight yellowish tinge where the bruises had been. Harry cast the gentlest cleaning charm he knew, siphoning as much of the blood off the other boy's face as he could, all whilst studiously ignoring the confused look Malfoy was giving him.

Gently, Harry used his hold on Malfoy's chin to twist the other boy's head slowly to one side and then the other, making sure that he had healed all the little cuts and bruises marring the Slytherin's flawless porcelain skin.

"Come on, then, Malfoy," Harry said softly, finally releasing Malfoy's chin and leaning back on his heels. "That's as much as I'm willing to do, considering I am definitely not a Healer and I have no way of knowing how severe your injuries are. I don't want to risk any more when I don't know what I'm doing."

"Okay," Malfoy said slowly, voice still sounding so tiny and confused, and Harry's heart clenched even harder at the sound, tightening even more as he realized that everything he had been saying to Ron and Hermione over the past fortnight was no longer true; he was not sure if he would ever again be able to hate Draco Malfoy after seeing him like this, after being the one to find him and heal him.

"So, let's go then, yeah? Let's get you up and I'll help you there, shall I?" Harry stood as he spoke, offering one hand down to Malfoy to help pull him to his feet.

At the sight of the proffered hand, Malfoy blinked quietly in obvious confusion. "Go where?" he finally asked, sounding wary.

"The Hospital Wing, of course."

"But…I—I don't…" Malfoy continued to blink up at him, and Harry felt his heart rate increase as they stared into one another's eyes for long moments.

"I don't know if you have any broken bones, Malfoy," Harry said seriously, finally breaking the silent stand-off, and Malfoy jumped slightly at the sound, clutching his ribcage with a heavy wince. "I'm not going to risk healing them, so the best I can do is get you to Madam Pomfrey as soon as I can."

Malfoy dropped his gaze to the floor, appearing lost. Harry did not lower his hand, still reaching out toward Malfoy without wavering, waiting patiently to help him to hospital. "Why are you doing this, Potter?" the blond finally asked in a low voice, nearly whispering the bewildered and almost embarrassed sounding question. "Why are you helping? I thought that you, out of everyone…"

"What, Malfoy?" Harry asked, cringing at the overly-defensive tone to the two words.

"I just thought…" Malfoy took a deep breath, "that you would be the one person, more than anyone else, who would be glad to see me suffer like this."

At the words, Harry felt sick; his stomach churned with sudden nausea, and it was nearly a full minute before he was able to form a response. "When have I _ever_ enjoyed seeing _anything _suffer, Malfoy?" The words were steeped in indignation. Did Malfoy really think that was the type of person Harry was? Was that really the way that Harry came across to him?

"Right," Malfoy's mouth twisted grimly. "Is all the pity you feel for me ruining any enjoyment you might have gotten out of seeing me like this? God," he chuckled darkly, and Harry was surprised to see a fresh tear slide down his cheek, "you really are every inch the hero you are portrayed to be, aren't you?"

The words made Harry's hackles immediately rise and he wanted to snap at the untrue statement, but Malfoy continued speaking in a soft voice and Harry swallowed back whatever retort he might have uttered, listening instead with a tight chest as Malfoy said, "You hate me, Potter. You have hated me from the very moment we first met; I won't think any less of you for simply walking away and leaving me here."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped angrily, regretting his tone as Malfoy flinched away from him. "Shut up," he said in a softer voice, dropping to his knees to look Malfoy directly in the eye. "I am NOT leaving you here like this. You said yourself earlier that you're in no shape to move. So," he said louder, speaking over whatever Malfoy had been opening his mouth to say, "I am taking you to the Hospital Wing, and you are going to deal with it."

The words were underlined with a glare, as though daring Malfoy to argue. They stared at one another in silence for long moments until Malfoy finally relented with a sigh.

Heart still pounding, Harry stood with a nod, once more reaching down to offer Malfoy a hand and holding his breath until Malfoy's cold palm met his own. As the blond tried to stand, however, he only made it an inch off the ground before releasing a loud, agonized gasp as he fell back against the floor, clutching desperately at his midsection and seeming to hold his breath as he whimpered in pain.

The sight instantly made Harry drop to his knees once more, placing one hand carefully on Malfoy's shoulder and the other on his knee. "Fuck, Malfoy," he whispered in a panicked voice, feeling tears prickling at his own eyes as he helplessly watched Malfoy rock back and forth in obvious agony. "Tell me who did this to you, _please!_"

"Does it really matter?" Malfoy gasped, face even paler than normal and covered in a light layer of sweat and tears.

"Of course it fucking matters!" How could it not matter? Malfoy could not even stand! It mattered, and Harry was determined to find whoever it was that had done this to Malfoy. He had not sacrificed his life for the entire world just to have them go straight to the other extreme of things. Why did people continue _doing _shit like this?! Why couldn't everybody just leave each other the fuck alone?! Harry was sick to death of seeing unnecessary violence and hatred; he would not stand for any more!

"Oh, Potter, you bloody Gryffindor hero," Malfoy sighed, resting his head back against the wall as he regarded Harry with serious eyes. "This really is you, isn't it? You really are the absolute epitome of chivalrous heroism. You really are just as selfless and benevolent as the world claims you to be."

For a moment, Harry felt nearly insulted, feeling the familiar itch to snap at Malfoy and say something hurtful, something to refute the untrue accusation, because Harry _knew _that he was not a hero; he was not selfless or kind. He was angry and he was broken and he was so far from perfect it was nearly laughable.

Before he could argue, however, Malfoy was speaking. "For years," he said quietly, eyes searching Harry's face in a way that made the brunet shiver, "I had thought you were simply putting on an act for your peers and devoted fans, certain that you were only playing up your gallantry as you thought they wanted you to act. But you're not, are you?" Malfoy asked quietly, reaching out one hand to grasp at Harry's shirt collar, "This really is who you are, isn't it? You really are just as kind as your blindly devoted followers proclaim you to be, aren't you?"

Harry was unsure of how to respond. For so long, ever since the war had ended, he had been actively trying to convince himself that he was the exact opposite of the way the nation seemed to portray him. And, even though a large part of himself still wanted to argue with Malfoy's words, an even larger part was flushing with pride at the praise, for some reason longing for Malfoy to say something else complimentary, a large part of himself yearning for Malfoy to think highly of him.

_What the fuck does that mean?_ Harry wondered in bewilderment. He had never cared before what Malfoy thought of him, why should he start now?

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry finally mumbled, shifting closer to wrap one arm around the Slytherin's slim waist. "Let's get you to the Hospital Wing."

Relenting with a sigh, Malfoy closed his eyes and drew several deep breaths, draping one arm over Harry's shoulder and bracing himself as he clutched at Harry's far shoulder with both hands, struggling to stand despite the obvious agony. Harry did what he could to support Malfoy's willowy frame, flinching sympathetically as the blond cried out in pain, wishing desperately that there was anything he could do to relieve Malfoy of his undeserved anguish.

Eventually, after a long struggle, they were both finally upright, Malfoy leaning heavily into Harry as he struggled to draw breaths through his pained whimpers.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked in a low voice, immediately regretting his stupid question. _Obviously_, Malfoy was _not _all right.

"Yes," Malfoy panted, clutching at Harry's shoulder even tighter, and it suddenly crossed Harry's mind that they were practically embracing. He was basically hugging Draco Malfoy to himself, and Harry was surprised at his lack of revulsion at the contact. Just as short a time as that morning he would have expected himself to feel nothing but disgust at being this near the Slytherin, yet now…Harry couldn't help shifting slightly closer, feeling an intense wave of protectiveness swell up within him. Malfoy felt so frail and fragile in his arms, as though he was made of glass, and Harry suddenly wanted nothing more than to protect him. Malfoy was so slim and slender, seeming at that moment to be as delicate as a porcelain doll, one which had very nearly been shattered, and Harry was surprised at how distressing that realization was.

"Will you please tell me who did this?" Harry asked suddenly, embarrassed at the obvious desperation in his voice. Harry would find whoever it was and make sure they paid for every single bruise and every single pained flinch Harry had witnessed in Malfoy. Why wouldn't Malfoy just _tell_ him?

"Does it matter?" Malfoy repeated in a weary tone, wrapping both arms around Harry and holding tight as he began taking small shuffling steps forward, and Harry tightened his own hold on the other boy as they began to slowly make their way along the corridor.

"I've already told you it does." Harry felt his nostrils flare in irritation. "And if you saw what you looked like right now…Malfoy, _please_! I'll find them, I'll make sure this doesn't happen again!"

Malfoy paused to laugh a hollow, broken laugh. "Then you'll have to find them all, Potter!" he cried hysterically, nails digging into Harry's shoulder as he paused to breathe heavily. "If you think this is either the first or the last time something like this has happened…"

"It's the last," Harry growled, arms automatically tightening around Malfoy's waist. The blond flinched and sucked in a sharp breath, and Harry immediately loosened his hold, glancing away in remorse. "Sorry," he mumbled, allowing Malfoy to lean more fully into him and supporting his weight as best he could as they continued down the corridor in their odd shuffle.

"I'm not your problem, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, gaze fixed firmly on the floor as they limped forward. "I am neither your problem nor your responsibility; you owe me nothing. So please don't burden yourself even more under the devastating weight of your own heroism, simply for the sake of someone as trivial and worthless as myself. Save the civility for someone who actually matters."

"Trivial and worthless?" Harry repeated in an angry voice, feeling indignation rise within him at the horrifying adjectives. "Is that really how you see yourself, Malfoy? As someone who doesn't even _matter_? You honestly don't even sodding _care _that a bunch of ignorant cunts have been kicking the shit out of you? Malfoy—!" It was like Harry was talking to a complete stranger. Where had the old Malfoy gone? Who was this new unassuming look-alike? Where had the pride and arrogance that Malfoy had once been bursting with disappeared to? Harry had felt so positive that he had known the blond, really truly _known _him, down to his very core; but standing there, listening to him say those things, in a tone of voice that Harry had no doubt fully believed his own heartbreaking words of worthless insignificance…Harry didn't even have the words to match the feeling it left him with. It seemed to be an odd combination of regret, fury, and heartbreak.

Ever since he had met him, Harry had thought that he had _hated_ Malfoy, and he had been so sure that he would continue to hate him forever. But every word that the other boy spoke sent fresh waves of pained torment slashing through Harry's chest, leaving him with the desire to grab Malfoy by the shoulders and shake him until he finally snapped out of it and came to his senses. Unfortunately, what with Malfoy's injuries and Harry's intense desire to cause him no further pain, shaking him roughly by the shoulders was one of the worst things Harry could have done right then.

At Harry's questions, Malfoy simply turned his head away and shrugged, clearly trying his hardest to act casual, but there was no hiding anything from Harry when they were so closely wrapped around one another.

"What's happened to you, Malfoy?" Harry asked in a troubled voice, alarm seeping through his every word. "This isn't like you at all!"

"Who the hell says you ever really knew me in the first place?" Malfoy asked coldly, shifting his weight forward as though he meant to push away from Harry and continue on alone, and Harry retightened his hold instinctively, unwilling for the prickly blond to leave his arms just yet.

"Even if I didn't," Harry responded quietly, not believing his own words about not really knowing the other boy but wanting to get the conversation back to less hostile areas, "I've never heard you speak like this before, Malfoy. You're freaking me out, to tell you the truth."

"I…" Malfoy fell silent as he pondered what to say. "I'm just being honest," he finished after long moments, "about how I feel, for what is arguably the very first time in my life. I'm just trying to be _honest_, Potter."

"And that, Malfoy," Harry spoke grimly, "is exactly what is freaking me out so much. Is this _honestly _how you feel about yourself?"

Malfoy said nothing for a very long time; the only sounds to be heard were the shuffling, dragging steps of their feet as they continued heading in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Harry had nearly given up on either of them speaking again before reaching Madam Pomfrey, until Malfoy said, in a very quiet voice, "I survived when I wasn't supposed to, Potter. I was not meant to make it out of the final battle; I was not meant to live through this war. And as a result, everything after that has just seemed…so utterly meaningless to me, because it shouldn't _be_. I'm unnecessary and unwanted, and I can't help but feel as redundant as I am."

"You're not redundant, Malfoy," Harry whispered in a choked voice, halting in place and forcing Malfoy to pause as well. Everything Malfoy had just said…it was though somebody else had finally, _finally, _for what was possibly the very first time in the entirety of the war's aftermath, put Harry's exact feelings into words. He had never even recognized that _that _was the meaning behind the empty hollowness within his chest, echoing through him every day with the reminder that Harry simply shouldn't _be_. It was something that neither Ron nor Hermione understood at all, despite their constant—annoying and aggravating—attempts at cheering him up, wanting him to be as happy with his existence as they were, constantly reminding him that he was still alive and still well and to take joy, if from nothing else, then from that one simple fact. And Harry, despite knowing what a miracle it really was that he was still alive and despite feeling like an ungrateful berk for not being more appreciative, had never been able to find any sort of happiness just from the thought of still existing, something Ron and Hermione seemed incapable of understanding.

But here was Malfoy, putting into words everything Harry had been feeling without even realizing that there were words to describe it.

Malfoy clutched at Harry's shoulder and straightened himself somewhat, looking the brunet directly in the eye from only centimeters away, and Harry felt light-headed at both the contact and the closeness. "I am, though," he said softly, grey eyes searching Harry's face with an intensity that made the brunet shiver. "And you understand that, don't you? I know you do, Potter. You understand exactly what I mean by that. Neither of us was really meant to live through it, were we? We aren't meant to be alive. And yet here we are."

"Here we are," Harry repeated in a dazed tone of voice, heart pounding fiercely and feeling nearly faint from how hard his pulse was racing. Malfoy was so close…so close and so tragically beautiful and so achingly mysterious…so lonely and sad and somehow able to understand Harry in a way that he had never before felt. "Malfoy…"

As he watched, Malfoy's cheeks flushed pink as he bit his bottom lip, chewing it nervously. "Potter…" he whispered, lifting one hand from Harry's shoulder up to his cheek, trembling fingers combing gently through the long strands of black hair hanging in Harry's face. "You understand, don't you?" he continued softly, shifting a fraction closer. "I know you do. I know you understand, just as I know that you're the only one who really does."

Unable to speak, Harry nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Malfoy's own as he clutched almost desperately at the other boy's waist.

"I get it," Harry conceded quietly, reaching up to cover the hand Malfoy still had tangled in Harry's hair with his own. "Maybe…" he hesitated for several heart-stopping seconds before steeling himself and continuing, "maybe we're the only ones who really understand each other, Draco. Maybe we're the only ones who _can_."

At the softly-spoken words, a smile—a real, absolute, genuine, _agonizingly_ beautiful smile—spread across Malfoy's lips. "Maybe we are," he agreed, eyes scanning Harry's face with an intensity that made the brunet shiver with sudden nerves. Malfoy shifted a centimeter closer, and Harry turned his head away with sudden apprehension, breaking the stare as he took a small step forward.

"Come on, then," he said with forced cheerfulness, cringing at the very obvious fake tone of voice, "we really need to get you to hospital."

"Right," Malfoy said flatly, keeping his gaze fixed on the stone floor ahead of him as he began to shuffle forward once more.

He did not look at Harry again as they made their way to the Hospital Wing in silence.

**TBC**


	2. Parts 3 & 4

Juuust a real quick warning about the violence in this chapter. (Towards a douchebag who deserves it, buuut still violence.) But there is also sweetness and kisses, so it's not all bad! (Also, this really is the second chapter, even though it's the third part. I know that the parts don't really match up to the chapter numbers. That's just the way it ended up happening, my bad.)

* * *

**Like Fire and Rain**

**Part 3**

Draco woke in cold silence.

Without warning, he sat up in bed out of nowhere—a narrow bed not his own—heart pounding and knowing instinctively that there was danger. Without needing to be told, without seeing anybody or anything threatening, even without being conscious, Draco knew that there was _something _in the room to fear.

Within twenty seconds of glancing nervously about, he was proven correct.

"You're up," a voice said softly, and it was not a voice he recognized.

"Who's there?" he squeaked fearfully, chastising himself for the fearful tone. Was he a man or not? Lord, if his father had heard him just now…

"I don't know how you got away from us before," the male voice continued, "but I won't give you a chance this time to remember. This time," the voice hissed dangerously, "you _will _pay for it."

"Pay for what?" Draco demanded, hunching down in his narrow, scratchy hospital bed—it was the Hospital Wing he was in! "Who the hell _are_ you? What the fuck have I ever done to you?!"

"You honestly don't even know, do you?" the voice spat furiously, and Draco flinched back, throwing his hands in front of his face defensively as he cringed against the thin mattress.

The voice laughed in response.

"Such a coward," it snarled cruelly. "Such a disgusting, pathetic worm of a human being.

"You're a disgrace, Malfoy," it continued, sounding closer, and Draco's heart went into overdrive at the realization of the nearness, "I'd feel pity for you if you weren't so utterly fucking useless. Actually, you're worse than useless. You're the most disgusting excuse for a wizard I've ever seen. Just the fact that _you_, out of everyone, made it through the war is enough to make me hate you. And the fact that they actually let you come back to Hogwarts is inexcusable. You should be dead and we both know it!"

Draco's heart sank.

It was right. The anonymous voice was right.

Draco was nothing; he should not exist. He was worth nothing and he should have died long ago. Despite whatever kind words Potter had spouted, Draco was worth nothing—he was worth nothing and he meant nothing, and it was time that he finally accepted it; it was time that he accepted whatever punishment the universe deemed suitable for his uncountable number of sins. He meant nothing and he was worth nothing and it would be utterly inconsequential if he were to die right at that very moment.

"And you know it, don't you, Malfoy?" it continued nastily. "You understand exactly how much you're worth, which is FUCKING NOTHING!" it roared without warning, causing the lamps to inadvertently flare to life, lighting up the large room lined with empty beds. A tall, lanky boy was momentarily highlighted, hair the color of straw hanging over hooded eyes, seen in a flash before he was suddenly gone, swearing profusely as he doused the lamps with a series of quick spells fired from the wand clenched tightly in an angry fist.

"You have no idea how much I loathe you, Malfoy," the stranger continued in a growl, careful footsteps falling closer and closer to Draco's bed, and every soft scuff against the stone floor caused Draco's heart rate to increase, until it felt like his heart was only moments away from leaping straight from his chest to land on the floor with a wet splat between the two boys. "By the time I'm done showing you just how much I hate you, you're going to fucking _wish _you had died in the war."

"And you've elected yourself judge, jury, and executioner, is that it?" Malfoy demanded coldly, feeling terrified to the point of lightheaded, along with a lingering disorientation from both the various healing potions and the interrupted sleep.

A nasty chuckle slithered toward the blond from somewhere in the darkness. "Someone has to be, might as well be me. You should be rotting behind bars in Azkaban for eternity with the rest of your disgusting excuse for a family. You should never have been allowed back at Hogwarts, Malfoy, you made a mistake by surviving. I'm just correcting it, is all."

The footsteps sounded louder and Draco cringed back against the mattress, glancing desperately around for his wand but seeing no sign of it. Heart pounding, he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for pain.

oOo

Harry had heard enough.

He had heard everything he needed to hear, everything he wanted to hear. The awful, horrible words were still swirling through his brain, infecting his ears and making him see red. Throwing off the Invisibility Cloak, he cast a quick _Lumos_, drawing the attention of the only other two people occupying the Hospital Wing, one standing tall and menacing and advancing threateningly toward an occupied bed, and the other appearing small and helpless as his terrified eyes found Harry's.

Turning to face the one standing, Harry disarmed him with a growl, snatching the boy's wand from the air before stalking forward to smash his fist furiously against a somewhat familiar-looking cheekbone, eyebrows raising in surprise as he finally recognized the teenage boy whose voice Harry _knew _he had heard before.

"Zacharias Smith," Harry spat lividly, glaring at the blond Hufflepuff before pulling back his arm and slamming the same fist against the other boy's nose as hard as he could, feeling a vindictive surge of angry pleasure at the smear of blood now staining Harry's fingers as he silently thanked Dudley for that particular technique.

"Potter," Smith choked, attempting to wrest himself free from Harry's iron grasp. "What are you—what are you doing here?"

A wave of anger had risen up in Harry like an enraged storm cloud, one that hovered over the entire world in a smothering fog until everything he saw and everything he felt and everything he knew was red like the color of blood, red like the color of boiling rage scorching through his every vein, pumping through his heart until Harry felt like he might choke on his own fury, might suffocate on the hatred he felt as he stared down at the bleeding boy held tightly in his grasp.

"I knew whoever it was would come back," Harry said quietly, words laced with jagged splinters and spoken in a tone of voice that Harry did not recognize but reminded him of the sharp sound of ice cracking. "I knew you would be back, you absolute piece of _shit._"

As he spoke, Harry drew his arm back once more, unsure if he would actually hit Smith again but enjoying the cringe of fear that jerked through the Hufflepuff's body.

"Are you protecting him? _Him_?! _Malfoy_?!" Smith demanded in a thick-sounding voice, trying to keep the blood dripping from his nose from sliding between two lips parted in disbelief, staring up at Harry in confusion and fear.

"You're the only disgusting one here, not him," Harry snarled in response, ignoring the question as he allowed his drawn-back arm to snap forward once more, feeling his knuckles bruise as they smashed across the bridge of Smith's nose, right between his wide watery eyes.

With a feeling of revulsion, Harry finally released his grasp on the Hufflepuff's collar, allowing the injured boy to drop heavily to the floor before Harry shook out his throbbing hand with a grimace, feeling the bruised knuckles ache as he wrapped the same hand around his wand and used it to Stun the shifting, moaning lump on the floor that was Zacharias Smith.

Once the Hufflepuff was unconscious, Harry took his time lighting the nearest lamps in the room with a series of spells, casting as slowly as possible as sudden nerves sprung up within him from nowhere, dissipating the thick anger still shrouding the world and allowing him to breathe fresh air once more, feeling anxious and unsure about the close proximity he had once again found himself in with Draco Malfoy. What would Malfoy say? What was he thinking? Was he grateful to Harry or would his old familiar pride allow for nothing more than contempt at Harry's interfering?

Heart and mind racing, Harry slowly turned to face the Slytherin propped upright in a narrow, rickety hospital bed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in disbelief as he stared at Harry with an intensity that made Harry shift his weight between uncomfortable feet. The intensity seemed to build to an unimaginable peak as they stared at one another, growing and growing until it was nearly a living breathing thing manifested between their very eyes, given life by the fierce extremity of their gazes as they stared at one another without blinking. A thick lock of silken hair slipped free where it had been tucked behind Malfoy's ear, swinging forward to curtain his face in shadow, and the sight made Harry take an automatic step forward.

"Are you all right?" he asked hesitantly, feeling unsettled and confused at the nameless feelings surging up within him as Malfoy continued to rake a piercing gaze over the brunet.

"…yes," Malfoy finally responded, reaching up to tuck the hair back behind the ear it had escaped from and causing Harry's fingers to twitch at the sight. "I…but…how did you…" Malfoy seemed just as lost for words as Harry felt, standing rooted to the spot less than a yard from the Slytherin, willing his feet to move closer at the same time his legs refused the order. Malfoy's mouth opened and closed twice before he finally seemed to settle on a question to ask. "What are you doing here?"

One of Harry's shoulders raised in a shrug, mouth pulling down at the corners as he pondered how best to answer, finally deciding on a shortened, simplified version of the truth. "It's like I told him," Harry gestured lamely down to the Stunned boy lying unconscious and unarmed on the cold floor, "I knew whoever it was would be back. You know nothing can be kept a secret in this school and I knew that word would get around that you were in the Hospital Wing." He shrugged again. "So I waited."

If anything, Harry's words seemed to confuse Malfoy even more. "You…waited? _Here_?" he asked slowly, the three words falling from his mouth in a cascade of combined confusion and curiosity, sounding as though he was attempting to speak in a language he was not yet familiar with.

"Well, yeah," Harry attempted a grin as he glanced around at the tall, echoey room. "This is where the excitement was bound to happen, Malfoy, where else would I have waited?" The question was rhetorical and he had meant the words to sound light-hearted and break the strange tension sitting stagnant between the two of them, but as Harry stopped speaking, Malfoy's eyes dropped to his lap as he fiddled restlessly with a loose thread on his hospital blanket, wrapping and unwrapping it around one finger and not speaking for long moments, moments that Harry was terrified of breaking himself, and he was still unsure why that was.

Finally, Malfoy spoke. "Is that why you're here, then? For the excitement?"

The question made Harry blink several times. "Well, no, I—what?"

Eyes fixed firmly on the frayed blanket, Malfoy mumbled, "Is that the reason you waited here for whomever it was that you were so certain would show up? Because of the thrill and danger and adrenaline involved?"

"No, that's not what it is at all," Harry answered honestly, feeling taken aback by Malfoy's questions. Of course the answer was no, right? Harry didn't need those things in his life anymore—he never had. Taking a deep breath, Harry forced the reluctant truth up his throat and past the stubborn gate of his teeth, allowing the words to trip from his mouth in a rushed heap. "I was worried about you, Malfoy, all right?"

Malfoy stared. "What?" he whispered in a choked voice, sounding as though nobody had ever said those words to him before in his life and he was unsure how to interpret them, unsure how to even hear them.

Keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor, Harry shrugged. "I was—I was worried about you, after this afternoon. I mean, I had seen what had happened when you had been left on your own, and I didn't want it to happen again."

A sad, surprised laugh slipped free from Malfoy's mouth. "So you're my own personal guard dog then, is that it, Potter?"

Eyes snapping up, Harry fixed him with a glare. "If I have to be. If that's what it takes to make sure you don't end up in here again." He gestured around the room with a jerk of his head, falling silent as though that would be the end of the conversation.

"Potter…" Malfoy sighed wearily, opening his mouth to continue, to say only god knew what, lips parting before a sudden noise drew the attention of both boys to the door of the Hospital Wing. Every lamp flared to life as Madam Pomfrey rushed in, dressed in a nightgown and hair pinned up in curls. Her wand was held aloft and she stopped short at the sight that met her—one student bloodied and unconscious on the floor, one fiddling nervously with his fingers in a hospital bed, and one standing near the bed holding two wands.

Her mouth popped open in surprise, clearly about to question the two of them on what exactly it was that had happened in the room, but Malfoy was obviously tired and seemed somewhat out of it, so Harry fortified himself with a sigh before moving toward her to explain everything.

oOo

It had been raining all morning.

Ever since Draco had woken, the sky had been dark and heavy, low rumbles of thunder rolling toward the castle from a distance as raindrops resolutely soaked the world around them. He sat tapping his quill against the tabletop in what he assumed would be the steady beat of falling rain, imagining he could hear the drops hit the castle from all the way down in the dungeons. The Potions room was buzzing lightly with idle chatter as everyone unpacked their notes and books, beginning to set up their stations. Draco studied a crack on the cold stone of the desktop beneath his hand.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The chair next to him was suddenly pulled out with a squeal, scraping against the floor and making him flinch sharply, only just catching himself in time from turning to face the Gryffindor he knew would be seated next to him, but he could feel Potter's green eyes boring a hole in his skull without having to look over.

Heart racing, Draco allowed his long hair to swing over one shoulder, helping hide him from Potter's intense gaze as he lifted his right hand to fiddle nervously with one earring, twisting the tiny skull round and round in a cyclical bout of nervous energy.

"Malfoy," Potter finally spoke, voice low, and Draco increased the speed with which he twisted the earring but still did not glance over. "Malfoy," Potter tried again, scooting his chair an inch closer. Draco twitched in his direction but still did not respond. Potter sighed explosively, sounding frustrated. "Look, Malfoy, I just—I—"

A sudden clapping drew their attention to the front of the room, where Slughorn stood calling for class to begin. Draco sighed in relief as every student fell silent and turned to face him as he began to speak. Draco relaxed the hand he had tensed around his quill and resumed his quiet tapping as he imagined himself out in the rain, feeling it soak into his parched skin and cleanse him from the outside in.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

* * *

It was still raining. The castle was dark, and as Draco paced indifferently down the corridor, he could hear the small scuffling echoes of his own footsteps over the soft murmuring drizzle of rain outside. It was times like this that he loved best, when the world was hushed with rainwater and everything outside was soft and pretty and grey and safe, when he could look up at the vast textured sky and study it without fear of going blind. Most times, the blue of the sky seemed so hollow and empty to him, ceaseless and never-ending in a way that made him feel sad and insignificant. But when the weather was like this…

He paused for a moment before crossing to the nearest window and gazing out in quiet speculation, staring up at the grey canvas of the heavens stretched unbrokenly between horizons. Silvery-purple clouds hung low over the land, sighing water over the earth as far as Draco could see. Placing both elbows on the thick stone ledge, he stretched one hand out through the open window, stretching past the castle to the cool air of the outside world and smiling to himself as he felt several cold drops hit the tips of his fingers.

It was only in times like this that he still felt able to see any beauty in the world anymore.

"Malfoy," a voice spoke softly behind him, and Draco sighed as he drew his chilled hand back inside, not even surprised enough to jump as he half-turned his head in Potter's direction to acknowledge the sneaky prat.

"Potter," he said quietly, turning back to study the beauty of the landscape framed just outside the edges of the cold stone window. If only he could escape into it and never have to return.

"I've been trying to talk to you all day." Without looking, Draco could hear the frown in Potter's voice, and the sound nearly made him smile.

"I haven't been hiding," Draco responded honestly. Avoidance and hiding were not the same things. Draco had heard Potter loud and clear the night of the Hospital Wing—he would not be the Gryffindor's newest charity case. Potter's need to save everyone he encountered would not extend to Draco just for the sake of it.

"What are you doing?" Potter asked curiously, stepping even closer and resting one arm atop the wide window ledge, his elbow nearly touching Draco's own and finally forcing the blond to look up and meet the familiar green gaze staring back at him.

"Looking at the rain," he murmured in a soft voice, turning back to the lovely greyness of the outside world.

"Aren't you cold?" Potter wondered, shivering as a gust of wind blew past them.

"No."

They both fell silent for several moments as they stared out at the falling rain, both lost in thought.

"Zacharias was expelled, you know," Potter said without warning, breaking the gentle quiet.

"Yes, I heard." Draco glanced at the brunet, noting that, for once, Potter was not glaring at him. His expression was calm, thoughtful almost, as he studied Draco from only inches away.

"McGonagall made an announcement the morning after," Potter continued, large eyes unblinking as he shifted his arm a fraction closer, "Saying that there is zero tolerance for any kind of violence or vigilante vengeance allowed within Hogwarts."

For some reason, the alliteration nearly made Draco smile. "I must still have been in the Hospital Wing."

"I know," Potter spoke in a low voice, gaze sweeping over Draco in a way that made the blond shiver. "When did you get your ears pierced?" he blurted suddenly, cheeks reddening as he stared down at his hands before looking up to meet Draco's eye for nearly a second before glancing out the window again.

At the question, Draco really did smile. "Over summer hols," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "Pansy and I went together after both our parents were sentenced, some form of teenage rebellion, I suppose. It was the first time either of us had ever been in the Muggle world."

"You let a Muggle pierce you?" Potter asked in surprise, eyebrows rising.

"Of course," Draco responded, all amusement from earlier now as vanished as the sun behind thick clouds the color of cold iron still hanging low in the sky. "I doubt any of the wizarding parlors would have taken my Galleons."

"Oh. Right," Potter mumbled, glancing away again. "What did she get pierced?"

At that, Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Do you really want to know?"

Draco chuckled as Potter's nose wrinkled, shaking his head firmly. "No, actually, you're right, I take it back, I don't want to know."

Draco chuckled again.

"How come…" Potter began hesitantly, appearing unsure as he steeled himself to continue, "how come you came back to Hogwarts and she didn't?"

Any laughter still in Draco's throat shriveled up and withered away at the question. "Because she was always the smarter of the two of us," Draco responded dryly, turning away to rest his chin on folded arms, feeling the chill from the stone window ledge beginning to seep through his thick robes.

Potter said nothing for several moments. "I think it makes you the braver one, actually," he said quietly.

The words caused a peculiar rush of emotions to rise up in Draco, and he was not sure at all that he would be able to put a name to a single one of them. Did Harry Potter, the absolute epitome of brave heroism, really just call _Draco_ brave?

"We were having such a civil conversation, Potter," Draco murmured, soft words carried away on the cool breeze still blowing in through the open window. "Let's not spoil it now with any untruths."

"I'm not lying, Malfoy," Potter frowned, wrapping one hand around Draco's upper arm and tugging until the blond turned to look at him. "I hadn't realized, or even really thought at all, what it would be like for you to come back here. I hadn't wanted to think about it, I thought I had wanted it to be difficult for you. But after seeing you the other day…after being the one to take you to the Hospital Wing…"

Draco's gaze dropped as shame and embarrassment filled him, forcing Potter to tighten his grip in order to keep Draco from fleeing, a desire clearly written all over the Slytherin's face.

"After seeing that, I just…Malfoy, I just…" the brunet surprised them both by raising one hand to Draco's hair, combing his fingers gently through the ends of the silken strands as he looked Draco directly in the eye. "I just want you to know that, even if you don't see it, I do think you're brave. And I just want you to be all right."

"I'm fine," Draco responded automatically in a whisper, heart feeling as though it might go into overdrive at the close proximity, the gentle touch. Had anybody ever handled him so gently before? It made his heart ache in his chest, longing to press closer into the soft touch, longing for Potter to enfold him in an embrace and whisper again that everything would be all right.

"As fine as I am?" Potter whispered back, eyes searching Draco's face. "You said it yourself the day I found you in that corridor—maybe we're the only ones who can really understand one another. And I know you're not okay because I'm not okay, either."

"I know," Draco heard the anguish in his own voice and knew that Potter had heard it as well.

At the sound, Potter pressed closer, combing the long silvery strands of Draco's hair back and tucking it behind one ear. "Draco," he murmured, raising his other hand to Draco's jaw in order to gently cradle Draco's head between two tender palms, as though Draco was fragile and easily broken. "I don't…I don't know what I'm doing…I…I–I don't—" he admitted, voice nearly inaudible even though they were only separated by centimeters.

"Then don't think about it," Draco's own voice was just as soft before it was stolen away entirely as Potter bent forward to press the gentlest of kisses to Draco's terrified—but oh, so very, very willing—lips. Draco reached up to wrap both palms around the backs of Potter's hands, still cupping his face delicately in place as they kissed to the gentle sounds of rain falling.

**Part 4**

Harry sighed heavily, glasses threatening to slip off his nose as he lay flat on his back on his mattress, head dangling upside down over the side as he stared out of the Gryffindor dorm windows with a dull look. It had been raining for days, with no clear sign that the weather was planning to improve. Harry didn't care if it stayed like this forever, though. The sound of the drops hitting the castle soothed him in a way he could not explain, the sound causing a blush to rise in his cheeks as the sight of the falling rain made him think of nothing but Malfoy.

_Draco_, Harry thought quietly to himself, smiling internally at the thought. He wasn't sure that he would ever again be able to hear or see rain without thinking of the blond and the kiss they had shared by an open window of an abandoned corridor, set to the sounds of rumbling thunder and the soft muted _chink_ of rain hitting stone.

Harry had never had a kiss like it.

It made his body heat just thinking about it, even though the kiss itself had not gone beyond a gentle, somewhat timid exploration of lips. They had said very little afterward, other than an awkward exchange of goodnight's, before both heading back to their dorms, both clearly needing time to think through what had happened. The lingering look that Malfoy had given him before Harry had turned away, however, had made him want to stride back and recapture his mouth in a much deeper kiss.

"Jesus Christ," Harry mumbled to himself, resting his hands on the flat of his stomach as he sighed. "Did I really kiss Draco Malfoy?" Harry had hated him only so recently—how had his feelings toward the blond gone from hatred to desire so quickly? It felt like everything inside himself had shifted without warning, a seismic altering that Harry had been unprepared to deal with. What did he do now that he knew about these strange, confusing feelings that had somehow been buried within him for who knows how long? Maybe the reason Harry had always loathed Malfoy so much was that the desire had always been there, buried deep down inside him, warring with the intense dislike Harry had had for the blond for years. Harry had hated the Slytherin, he knew that for sure. Just as much as he knew that he was now no longer capable of hating Draco Malfoy.

But what did that actually _mean_? What did any of it mean? Neither of them had sought out the other after their prolonged kiss in the corridor, and Harry was terrified that it wouldn't happen again just as much as he was terrified that it would. Was that something that Draco even wanted?

The door to the dorm suddenly swung open, inwardly startling Harry into losing his train of thought but outwardly earning nothing more than a flick of his eyes. "There you are," Ron's voice sounded loud in the empty quiet of the dorm. "What are you doing up here all alone?" His footsteps sounded heavy as he strode across the room and collapsed loudly on the bed across from Harry, bouncing on the springy mattress until he was settled comfortably.

"Thinking," Harry responded listlessly, gaze going back to the window as he watched the rain falling in icy sheets on everything unfortunate enough to be caught outside in it.

"Well, that's never a good sign," Ron grinned, smile turning worried as Harry said nothing. "You okay, Harry?"

One shoulder jerked up in an awkward shrug, a rather difficult move in the position he was in. "Have you ever been so sure you knew somebody, like really known who they were, inside and out, and been so certain how you felt about them, only to find out that maybe you were wrong? Maybe they're completely different to how you thought they were and maybe you don't actually feel the way about them that you thought? Like maybe the way you really feel about them is actually the exact opposite of what you were sure you felt about them?"

Ron frowned in confusion. "Um…" he began, scratching his head in thought, "I'm not really sure if I have…I'm not sure if I even understand what you're saying. Are you talking about Ginny?" His frown deepened. "I know that she's still waiting for you to get your head on straight and go to her about getting back together, but, mate, if she's the one you're talking about…"

Harry sighed. "No, Ron, I don't mean Ginny." The sound of her name sent his insides squirming with guilt, but he just didn't have the mental capacity to focus on her when thoughts of Malfoy kept invading his mind.

"Well, can you tell me who you're talking about at least, then?" Ron still sounded puzzled, nose scrunched as he tried to make sense of Harry's convoluted mess of words.

"I don't know if I can," Harry responded, feeling embarrassment beginning to swirl through him. "I mean, after everything I've said and all the fuss I made about it…"

"The fuss you made about what?" Ron sounded perplexed, worried blue eyes trying to meet Harry's own.

"About all of it!" Harry sighed explosively, sitting up without warning and swinging his legs over the mattress to sit perched on the edge, meeting Ron's gaze with a serious expression. "You know that Zacharias Smith was expelled a few days ago."

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "For bullying the Slytherins, or some rot. That was the same day McGonagall made that hour-long speech at breakfast about practicing compassion and forgiveness and moving forward together as one into an empathetic future, or whatever she was going on about."

"Yeah, well," Harry dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers twisted together as he tried to decide how to confess what had happened to Ron, "it wasn't all the Slytherins he was bullying. It was Malfoy. He had attacked Malfoy and that's the reason he was expelled."

"Malfoy?" Ron's eyebrows rose. "Please, Harry, don't tell me this is going to be another Malfoy tirade! Are you saying that Smith shouldn't have been expelled for it? What, you think Malfoy deserved worse, or something?"

"No!" Harry disagreed venomously, feeling searing fingers of rage creep through his veins at the remembrance of Draco lying bleeding and sobbing on the corridor floor. "That's not—I was the one who found him, Ron. I was the one who found Malfoy after he had been attacked and I was the one who turned Smith in for it."

"Oh," Ron said in surprise, lips parted in a perfect O as he gazed at Harry without blinking. "But…I would have thought…"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, running both hands through his hair roughly, "So would I. Before. But you didn't see him, Ron, it was…it was bad. I hadn't thought something like that would happen here, but it did and it was…it was really bad. It was all I could do just to get him to the Hospital Wing. And now…I just…I just can't…"

"You can't hate Malfoy anymore?" Ron said slowly, sounding as though the words tasted funny on his tongue. "So Malfoy is the one you're talking about?"

Harry nodded, staring down at the floor.

"Well, I've never liked Smith," Ron began, sounding more confused than before, "And I'm definitely not sorry that he's gone, but I don't really see what the problem is. So you don't hate Malfoy anymore after seeing him beat half to death, or whatever it was that happened. I know even though you hated him before, you've never really been able to see anyone suffer without at least trying to help. Is this like a—do you feel responsible for him now, or something? It sounds like a good thing to me, really, that you don't hate him anymore. It's got to at least make being partnered with him in Potions a hell of a lot easier."

Sighing, Harry shook his head. Ron wasn't understanding. Maybe Harry needed Hermione for this, but she wasn't there and he felt like if he didn't talk about it and confess to everything right there at that moment, then he never ever would.

"Wait, though," Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "What do you mean by 'the exact opposite of how you felt about them'? So, what, you're friends with Malfoy now or something?" His words were careful and voice slow, and Harry felt his cheeks heat as he realized that maybe Ron really did understand more than he was given credit for, after all.

"Er…" Harry raked a nervous hand through his hair as his face flushed crimson. "I…well…er…kind of, I suppose, but, um…"

"Oh my god," Ron whispered, suddenly on his feet as he stared at Harry with wide eyes. "Oh. My. God. You—No! Harry, no! You and he—Harry, are you actually saying that—No!" he gasped loudly, and Harry was worried that he was about to storm angrily from the room or maybe go into cardiac arrest or something else horrible, until he actually glanced up to see that Ron was _laughing_. He was bent over nearly double, holding his sides as he laughed until tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Oh my god," he choked out, squeezing the words out of his throat around the roars of amusement still tearing from his mouth. "Harry!" he gasped, attempting to quiet himself and control his breathing, only to begin laughing uncontrollably once more. "Merlin's—sodding—bollocks," he exclaimed, panting for breath and wiping tears from his eyes as he collapsed back onto the bed behind him in a fit of mirth.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry muttered, face still burning red as Ron continued to chuckle.

"Sorry," he snickered, "It's just…that is just too bloody rich, Harry! After all the whinging and whining and complaining and moaning on and on and _on _about him, for _this _to be the real reason why…" he allowed his words to trail off into a quiet laugh. "At least now I know why you've been dragging your feet so much about getting back together with Ginny. How long have you had a thing for the albino prat, then?"

Harry glared at him. "It's not funny! And I don't know! I didn't even realize it until—" He bit the rest of the statement off, unsure how to finish it.

"Until you were snogging him?" Ron supplied helpfully, still sounding far too amused for Harry's liking.

Harry responded with another glare.

"It was when you were snogging him, wasn't it?" Ron's grin stretched wider. "You two have totally already snogged, haven't you?"

Harry's glare vanished as a searing blush spread across his entire upper body, and he ducked his head to avoid Ron's knowing smirk. "I knew it!" the redhead crowed. "I knew at least one of you had a thing for the other! And then to find out that _both _of you feel that way…oh, Harry, I might just laugh about this for the rest of term!"

"I wasn't expecting you to find this funny, you know," Harry frowned, still staring down at the floor. At least one of them was getting a kick out of Harry's confusion and muddled feelings, he supposed.

"I can imagine," Ron chuckled. "And to be honest, if this had happened two years ago, I would probably have had a very different reaction. But honestly? After the war and Fred and everything," he suddenly got very somber, all laughter vanishing as he continued, "things like childhood grudges and past grievances and all that shite just aren't really that important to me anymore. And to be more honest," he continued, tone still serious, "I've really never been that comfortable with the idea of you and my little sister together. I was relieved when the two of you broke up and even more relieved when you showed no signs of wanting to get back together with her. There was just something about the two of you that never really seemed to fit, if you know what I mean."

Harry nodded, understanding perfectly without Ron needing to explain. It was something he himself had felt in his relationship with Ginny. There had been genuine feelings between the two of them, but something had always been missing; some sort of connection had been lacking that Harry had never been able to put a name to. "Yeah," he agreed with a heavy sigh.

"Come on, Harry, cheer up!" Ron leaned forward to thump him on the arm. "What are you getting so mopey about? I'd understand if you tried to kiss him and he turned you down, but it doesn't sound like that's what happened, yeah?"

At that, Harry felt his lips stretch ruefully into a small smile. "No, that's definitely not what happened."

"Well, then," Ron said, gesturing with both arms as though the two words encapsulated every confusing feeling Harry had spiraling within him into a simplified concept unworthy of rumination.

Harry's smile stretched wider. "I honestly was not expecting any of this from you, of all people, you know."

Ron fixed him with an amused glare. "Am I not allowed to be the mature one in the group for once? I _am_ older and wiser than you, you know. I think it's safe to say that all three of us have changed since the war ended. Hermione says I've gained perspective," he said proudly, earning a soft chuckle from Harry.

"I don't feel like I have," Harry admitted, still smiling softly.

"Course you have, Harry," Ron grinned. "You found out you like snogging Malfoy. That's got to change how you see at least a few things."

Still grinning, Harry shook his head at Ron's amusement. "We've only kissed the one time, you know. We haven't been running all over the castle, finding secret places to snog and groping each other under the Potions desk, or anything."

"That's okay, Harry," Ron said sympathetically, leaning forward to pat his arm in comfort. "Just give it some time, I'm sure you two will get there."

"Okay," Harry declared, shoving Ron's hand away and glaring even as laughter threatened to bubble up his throat, "this is too weird to continue talking about with you."

Ron shrugged. "I could have told you that about ten minutes ago, mate."

Shaking his head with a grin, Harry stood. "I'm going down to dinner. You coming? Where's Hermione at?"

Rolling his eyes, Ron climbed to his feet as well and followed Harry out of the dorm. "Where do you think she is? Color-coding her notes in the library, of course. Probably triple-copying them as well. I barely managed to escape with my life to come find you."

Laughing, Harry led the way through the portrait hole. "Do we like the unbalanced ones, or what?"

Snickering in agreement, Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "We sure do, Harry. Looks like we definitely fucking do."

**TBC**

* * *

A/N: The next chapter should be up sometime in the next few days, and I can promise plenty of Drarry preciousness coming your way, lovelies :) so yaaay!


	3. Parts 5 & 6

A/N: No real warnings for this chapter, other than the overabundance of teenage sentimentality you are about to read. So everyone get ready for all of that super fun-ness!

* * *

**Like Fire and Rain**

**Part 5**

Draco was nervous.

He couldn't help but fidget in his seat, twirling a quill between his fingers as his other hand fiddled anxiously with the ends of his long hair. Potter should be arriving at the dungeons any second now. What would happen when he took the seat next to Draco? Would they speak? Would they sit in the same silence that had shrouded them throughout every Potions lesson since the beginning of their forced partnership? Would they acknowledge what had happened, or choose to ignore it? Would Potter smile at him, or glare? Had Potter perhaps already forgotten their shared kiss or did he wish to discuss it? Would Draco's heart beat its way free from his chest before the Gryffindor even had time to enter the room? His heart was hammering so hard he felt nearly faint and he glanced around himself, wondering if the other students could hear it as well over the low buzz of idle chatter. Keeping his gaze fixed on the desktop, Draco attempted to calm himself, drawing deep breaths and holding the air in his lungs for long seconds before releasing it with a quiet exhalation.

The second the chair next to him was pulled out, however, his heart rate shot right back up to a million. Praying that Potter would not notice his clammy palms or twitchy fingers, Draco hid his hands under the table before turning his head a fraction to glance at the brunet. Peeking past the platinum curtain of his own sleek hair, Draco watched as Potter carefully unpacked his bag, keeping his eyes fixed on his belongings before taking a deep breath.

As he inhaled, his gaze suddenly flicked up to meet Draco's own, causing them both to gasp sharply before looking off in different directions. Draco felt heat rising in his cheeks and risked peeking over once more to see a tiny smile tugging up one corner of Potter's mouth, his cheeks painted red with embarrassment but no anger, as far as Draco could tell. With a loud scraping, Potter pulled his chair in closer to the table, closer to Draco, who scooted his own a few fractions closer as well.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter murmured quietly, raking one hand through his hair as the fingers of the other drummed a nervous beat against the stone desktop they shared.

"Hello, Potter," Draco rasped quietly, horrified at the hoarseness of his parched, scratchy voice.

For long moments, the brunet said nothing, raking his gaze over Draco with an intensity that made Draco long to allow his hair to swing forward enough to hide behind. It made Draco feel exposed in a way that he was not sure he would ever be comfortable with, as though Potter was attempting to look _inside_ him, green gaze piercing straight through Draco's paper skull to scan his innermost thoughts and feelings, as though they were being laid bare on blank parchment for Potter to study at will; it felt like his very soul was being examined.

And just when Draco thought he could take no more, that he was surely only seconds away from leaping to his feet and running from the room, Potter finally relaxed his stare, expression softening as he looked Draco in the eye, a certain warmness stealing into his gaze that Draco was positive he had never seen shining at him from Potter's normally enraged eyes. "So," the brunet started, appearing unsure of what to follow the single syllable with, "You want to chop or stir today?"

The corners of Draco's lips tugged up in a small smile, feeling the tension beginning to seep from his anxious limbs. "If you can be trusted to count properly, I'll handle the chopping."

Potter grinned. "Fair enough."

A loud clapping drew the attention of the class, Slughorn's usual way of silencing the chatter. As he began to ramble on, picking up steam in his oftentimes long-winded lectures, a slip of parchment suddenly appeared on the table before Draco. Glancing down, he noted the untidy scrawl as belonging to Potter, glancing over to see the brunet studiously taking notes, mouth apparently tugged down in concentration. Turning back to the note, Draco's heart began to pound as he read the message Potter had written, a short _Meet me after class?_

Scribbling back a hasty _okay_, Draco surreptitiously slid it over to Potter and turned to his own notes, feeling lightheaded and wondering what exactly it was that Potter wished to discuss in private. Try as he might, he could think of nothing else as Slughorn prattled on.

* * *

"So," Potter began, appearing nervous and just as fidgety as Draco felt. After Potions had ended, both boys had lingered at the table, taking their time packing everything away. As Draco was slipping his book back into his bag, he saw Potter shoot his two Gryffindor shadows a meaningful look, one that Weasley responded to with a wide grin and a nod. The sight of that amused smirk caused a blush to rise in Draco's cheeks, wondering if perhaps Potter had confessed what had happened between the two boys to his friends. He felt a hopeful fluttering in his chest at the thought; did that mean that Potter intended it to happen again? Did that mean that it had maybe meant something to him, after all? Maybe even just as much as their kiss foolishly meant to Draco?

Lord, he hoped so.

Finally, they were the only two left, and Potter turned to him with an anxious air, jerking his head toward the door and raising questioning eyebrows. Draco nodded and allowed Potter to lead the way, trailing silently next to him until they found an abandoned classroom that, judging by the thick coating of dust on every surface, had not been used in some number of years. They both set their bags on the floor before turning to eye one another shyly, neither saying anything until Potter cleared his throat and a single syllable fell from between two lips that Draco longed to again feel beneath his own. "So," Potter repeated, swinging his arms as though the action would help him decide on a safe topic to discuss.

"So," Draco echoed, reaching up to fiddle with one earring. Was Potter wanting him to start the conversation?

"I've been thinking about you," Potter blurted suddenly, an embarrassed expression crossing his flushed face as he fixed his eyes on the ground.

But the words made Draco smile, made his bones feel suddenly light, as though gravity no longer had a hold on him, almost as though he might somehow drift off the floor to hover near the ceiling. "Is that good or bad?" he asked cautiously, terrified of giving in to the long-forgotten and unfamiliar feeling of happiness blossoming within his stammering chest.

"Good, it–it's good," the words seemed to trip their way from Potter's mouth, "But only if _you_ think it's good. That's what I wanted to talk to you about—to know. If—you know, if you think it's good, too. Er, do you? Think that? It's good, I mean?"

Draco was having a hard time keeping a smile off his face. It felt like it had been years since he had smiled a genuine smile and his face ached slightly from the foreign feeling, but all he could do was grin even wider as Potter raked nervous hands through his black hair.

"I did kiss you back, you know," Draco pointed out, feeling nearly dizzy as the words fell from his lips before he had even thought them through, excitement and hope rushing through his veins with every hammering beat of his buoyant heart.

"Well, yeah," Potter grinned at the memory, face still red, "But, you know, you might have changed your mind, or something. You know, after."

The words were so unexpected and ridiculous that Draco couldn't help but snort at them. "I should be saying that to you, I think, not the other way around."

"I kissed you first," Potter shrugged with another blush, and Draco couldn't help but smile wider.

"And I'm certainly not sorry it happened," the blond admitted, staring at his shoes and feeling terror mix in with the excitement still swirling through him. Was this moment really happening? Was Potter really standing right in front of him, confessing such things?

"Yeah?" Potter asked, voice sounding much closer, and Draco risked a glance up to see that he had closed the space between them and was standing only inches away.

"Yeah," Draco breathed, feeling his fingers ache with the urge to reach out and tug the other boy closer.

"So, what does that mean?" Potter wondered, stretching out one hand to play with the ends of Draco's hair, the strands falling directly over Draco's pounding heart.

It felt like Draco was trying to breathe through a thick quilt—he felt dizzy and lightheaded and amazing and incredible and _alive_. "Well, um, neither one of us seem to be backing away. From the other."

"That's got to be a good sign, yeah?" the Gryffindor smiled, stepping even closer as though wanting to prove Draco's statement absolute truth.

"Excellent sign," Draco murmured, unable to move his gaze from Potter's soft-looking mouth.

"So," the mouth said, sounding breathless, "if I were to kiss you again, would it make you back away?"

The words made Draco nearly melt with longing. "Only one way to find out. Feeling brave, Potter?"

With another soft smile, the brunet closed the last of the distance between them, leaning forward to press his mouth sweetly against Draco's own, who couldn't help the tremulous sigh that escaped as he wrapped himself around Potter and sank fully into his warm embrace.

"You taste like rainwater," Potter whispered, capturing Draco's mouth once more in a kiss much less sweet and much more intense. Draco was unsure as to whether tasting like rainwater was a good thing or a bad thing, but the way Potter was holding his blond head in place as his tongue searched out every centimeter of Draco's mouth made the Slytherin think that maybe it was a good thing, after all.

"You taste like fire and adrenaline," Draco whispered back, earning another smile and another searing kiss. Gentle fingers not his own raked through Draco's hair and swept it back behind both shoulders, cupping Draco's jaw as they continued to kiss until he felt lightheaded and drugged and surely only seconds away from collapsing from lack of oxygen.

Finally, after what felt like days, they broke apart, both panting wildly.

"Draco," Potter gasped, wrapping both arms around Draco's waist tightly, as though he was afraid the blond would be foolish enough to try to sprint from the room.

"_Harry_," Draco panted, liking the feel of the name rolling tangibly off his tongue.

At the sound of his own name, Potter's eyes grew wide and his breath hitched. "I don't think you've ever called me by my name before."

Draco slid his hands along the collar of Harry's robes with a smile. "I don't think I've ever been kissed like that before."

The arms around his waist tightened possessively. "Good," Potter growled, not giving Draco a chance to reply before they were tangled in another fierce kiss. They stood locked in an impassioned embrace for another hundred years, until Draco had no choice but to either draw back or faint.

Harry refused to let him go, though, one arm still wrapped around his waist as the fingers of the other combed gently through Draco's platinum hair. "I can't believe I never realized before," the brunet murmured softly. "I can't believe how blind I was."

Draco smiled as he rested his forehead against the other boy's own. "I'm not sure if obliviousness is more a Potter trait or a Gryffindor one."

Potter grinned. "Prat."

Draco returned the expression and Harry pulled back slightly to gaze at him in wonder, raising both hands to cup Draco's jaw and gently trace his lips with two warm thumbs. "I can't believe how much I missed seeing you smile. I hadn't even realized it until it was gone." Draco's heart stuttered pleasantly in his chest as he pondered how best to respond to such a statement, but Harry continued speaking and he decided a response was not necessary. "I didn't think we could ever be like this, Draco. This…softness…it's never…I've never—I—"

"Me neither," Draco agreed softly, understanding perfectly what the other boy was trying to say without needing to hear any words at all. He had hoped but never allowed himself to imagine that they could share a moment such as this—he had never imagined that they could share anything so meaningful, or gentle, or, _fuck it,_ Draco thought, _beautiful. _It was undoubtedly the most perfect moment of his entire life, one he would now have to always look back on and treasure, no matter how dark his days had seemed lately. There was not a hint of sunlight outside but Draco didn't need there to be to feel its warmth, thawing his frozen flesh from the inside out—Harry was making him _feel _in a way that he hadn't in what seemed like years.

"You make me feel grounded, Draco," Potter confessed in a whisper, pulling him even closer, "in a way that I haven't since before the war and all the terrible things that happened. In a way I wasn't sure I could ever really feel again."

The pretty words made Draco's heart constrict with a rush of affection, leaving him glowing and speechless. "Harry…"

"I can't even remember what it was like to hate you."

Closing his eyes, Draco leaned forward to steal a kiss. "Let's hope you never remember. Ever."

Potter nodded, his bespectacled nose sliding against Draco's own before the brunet stole a much deeper kiss. "Now that I'm holding you, I'm not sure how to let you go," he admitted, eyes still closed.

"Then don't," Draco whispered, lowering his head to rest against Potter's firm shoulder and tucking his face against Potter's warm throat as he sighed. "Can we just…stay like this? Just for a bit? I—" he bit his tongue before he could finish the statement, feeling far too vulnerable to admit such a thing to Potter. _This is the safest I've felt in years_. The request made his entire upper body flush but Harry didn't laugh, he simply tightened his hold on Draco and rested his cheek against Draco's hair as they gently swayed in the deepening twilight slowly darkening the room around them, the encroaching darkness not seeming to bother either of them. As far as Draco was concerned, they could remain wrapped around one another for the rest of eternity. Harry was warm and he was safe and he was _here_, in Draco's arms, his taste on Draco's tongue, his strength somehow seeping into Draco's weakened limbs.

It looked like Draco had found something to live for, after all.

oOo

Harry didn't ever want to move. He had finally found somewhere perfect and safe and now that he had found it, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to leave, ever be able to unwrap his arms from Malfoy's slender waist. The blond seemed to fit so perfectly within his embrace, as though they had both been sculpted with the other in mind. The thought made Harry smile as Draco's rain-scented hair tickled his face.

The room was growing darker with every passing minute and Harry was reluctant to leave, but he heard a quiet growl from Draco's stomach and chuckled softly, pulling back to look the other boy in the eye. "Should we head down to dinner, then?"

Malfoy hesitated, silver gaze searching Harry's face before nodding once. There was a cautious wariness radiating from his eyes, and Harry was unsure of what to make of that.

"If you wish," the blond responded carefully, attempting to step back out of Harry's tight hold.

"Draco," Harry said softly, pulling him back close, "this isn't the last time this is going to happen if that's what you're worried about."

Dropping his gaze, a delicate pink stole over Malfoy's cheeks as he turned his head away. "Who said I was worried about anything?"

Deciding the best response was a silent one, Harry turned Draco's head back towards him with one hand before leaning forward to cover Draco's lips with his own, attempting to reassure him with a kiss. Malfoy responded immediately, wrapping himself back around the brunet as Harry sighed contentedly into his mouth. "Definitely not the last time," he murmured, breaking the kiss.

"Okay," Malfoy breathed, body relaxing into Harry's.

"I told Ron about us," Harry blurted suddenly, feeling Draco stiffen in his arms.

"What exactly did you tell him?" Malfoy asked carefully, limbs tense.

"I told him that things between us had changed and I told him about that first kiss in the corridor." Should Harry not have told anyone? Did Draco want things to be kept a secret? Should Harry have asked him first before confiding in anyone else about it?

"And what did Weasley say?"

The question made Harry chuckle softly, remembering Ron's response. "You mean after he finally stopped laughing?"

That seemed to get Malfoy's attention, his head jerking up to stare at Harry in surprise. "He was laughing?"

Harry grinned. "Probably still is. Trust me, it wasn't the response I was expecting, either."

Malfoy seemed to hesitate, eyes searching Harry's face for the truth. "So, he's not angry about it?"

"Didn't seem to be," Harry shrugged. "Are you angry that I told him?"

Malfoy laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it that Harry didn't like. "You say that like it's _my_ reputation on the line here, Potter."

A sudden chill shot through Harry as he frowned. "Reputation? Is that why…" Draco wasn't using Harry just for his name, was he? Was he hoping that being with Harry would help his social standing?

"No, Harry," Draco answered softly. "No, I didn't mean to imply anything like that. This is…something I've wanted for a while now but never thought I would actually have."

The words sent relief spreading through Harry, along with equal parts wonder and disbelief. "A while?"

Malfoy nodded shyly, and the sight made Harry's arms itch with the desire to tug him as close as possible. "But, Potter," he looked up to meet Harry's eye, "it's you I'm worried about if this goes public. I'm…well, let's just say that the masses really could not hate me any more than they already do. But you…"

"Fuck them," Harry growled, angry that the opinions of a bunch of ignorant strangers would even be a factor in whatever it was that was starting between him and Draco.

Malfoy smiled sadly. "That's easy to say now. But once people find out, it'll be out. And I just don't want…" he trailed off into silence.

"Don't want what?" Harry prodded, needing the blond to finish whatever it was he had been about to say.

Malfoy pulled away, stepping from the warmth of their embrace and half turning toward the door before speaking in a whisper. "I just don't want you to end up resenting me if people start looking down on you for our involvement. That would be worse than if this was the last time something like this were to ever happen."

"Draco…" Harry felt at a loss for words. How could Malfoy think that would even be a possibility? Harry would never blame the blond for the opinions of a bunch of faceless, unimportant strangers.

Malfoy's body twitched in the direction of the closed doorway, as though he meant to stride from the room, and the fear of him leaving like that made Harry snatch at his wrist, intent on assuring him that that would never happen.

"Draco," he tried again, holding tightly to Malfoy's pale wrist and feeling the other boy's pulse jumping wildly beneath Harry's fingers. "I would never do that."

Malfoy's smile had an acid edge to it. "Even your gallantry has limits, Potter."

"Are you trying to talk us both out of this?" Harry demanded, refusing to give in to Malfoy's cynicisms so easily.

The question made Malfoy pause as he considered it. "I'm not sure," he responded slowly, sounding as though he hadn't really been aware of what he had been doing. "Maybe I am, a bit."

Harry stepped closer, lifting Malfoy's hand to his chest. "Bloody Slytherins and their sense of self-preservation," he said lightly, wanting Draco's pretty smile from earlier to return to his face. "Figures I would fall for the most Slytherin of them all."

The statement earned a ghostly grin from the blond. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"What?" Harry grinned, "Being Slytherin or falling for one?"

Draco's smile widened. "Yes."

Harry shrugged, still grinning. "I was almost sorted Slytherin, you know. And my mum and Snape almost had a thing, so I can't really say I have a problem with either."

Malfoy blinked at him for several moments. "You were…what? Your _mum_? And _Snape_? What do you mean _almost_?"

Another shrug lifted Harry's shoulders. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin at first. And I found out that Snape and my mum were childhood friends until they had a falling out in their fifth year. If it hadn't been for that, though, I mean, I dunno. Who knows what would have happened?"

At that, Draco laughed. "Harry Snape the Slytherin, huh? I have to say, it's not as impressive a name."

Harry's nose wrinkled at the sound. "I hadn't actually thought about it like _that_. I mean, I respect the man, I really, really do, but I'm not sorry it didn't end up that way."

"On that, we are agreed." Draco's smile was soft and touch gentle as he laid his free hand on Harry's shoulder.

"And on everything else?" Harry asked hesitantly, scared of both the question and the answer.

Malfoy sighed. "Let's not make any promises right now. Let's just give this a chance to see where it goes first."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

A blush spilled across Draco's face as he looked Harry shyly in the eye. "You can still kiss me, though, you know. If you want."

Grinning widely, Harry bent his head forward to press a lingering kiss to Draco's mouth in the dusky darkness of an abandoned classroom, listening to the wind howl outside the castle as he drank in the taste of Draco's rain-flavored lips. Malfoy melted into him, returning the kiss in a way that made Harry's bones feel like they were turning to liquid.

_Fuck it,_ he thought. _Dinner can wait. _

**Part 6**

Snow swirled silently past the open window Draco stood at, icy wind blowing past him into the corridor beyond and making the shadows of the lit torches flicker and dance across the cold stone of the castle. Draco touched one finger to his lips, still feeling dazed. Potter had somehow managed to sneak up on him after Arithmancy, catching him unawares—and how exactly did the Gryffindor always seem to know where Draco was, anyway—sidling up behind him and slipping one hand into Draco's own, grinning wickedly before tugging the blond down the corridor into a broom cupboard. Once the door was shut behind them, Harry had turned to him and smiled, whispering a soft "Hi," before capturing his mouth in a kiss that Draco could still feel his lips tingling from.

Merlin, the things Harry could do to him, the way he made Draco feel…

Potter had not given him a chance to reply, pressing Draco against the thick wood of the door as they traded smoldering kisses, Draco trapped deliciously between the warmth of Potter's firm body and the unyielding door of the broom cupboard. One hand slid down Draco's chest, caressing the length of his side before settling on his hip and giving it a squeeze, fingers digging in tight but nowhere near tight enough. Potter's other hand moved restlessly over Draco's upper body, grazing over his throat and chest, sliding down his stomach and around to his back before clutching at his waist.

"Draco," Harry sighed, groaning as Draco pulled him even tighter against his body in response. "Jesus _Christ_."

"No," Draco pulled back far enough to murmur, lips stretched into a smile. "Draco Malfoy."

Potter chuckled softly, resting his forehead against Draco's own, eyes closed as he hummed contentedly. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I know," Draco murmured, locking his arms around Potter's back. He shivered as he felt Harry's kisses begin to trail lower, over his chin and down his throat, making Draco's pulse jump as Potter's tickly lips slid down to Draco's collar bones, kissing the dip between before moving back up to kiss the skin behind Draco's ear. It had certainly been a long day without the brunet; every day that they did not see one another felt as though it lasted a century, in Draco's opinion.

"We need a better place to meet," Potter mused, still pressing kisses to Draco's throat.

Draco hummed in agreement. Over the past few weeks, they had been managing to find time to meet up with one another, but it was always in broom cupboards or abandoned classrooms and Draco had long ago found himself impatient with their inability to find somewhere comfortable for their intimacies.

"Maybe…" Harry hesitated, making Draco lean back in response.

"Maybe what?" he asked cautiously. Was Potter getting bored of having to sneak around so much? Was he finally ready to move on to somebody that he could proudly showcase in public? Were all of Draco's greatest fears about to be met right there in that broom cupboard?

"Well, just," Potter flushed, "maybe if this wasn't a secret, you know, we would actually be able to find somewhere better than a dusty old broom cupboard to meet up in."

The question made Draco's heart sprint to a million in the blink of an eye, hammering inside his chest. "You want to go public about…this?" He gestured between the two of them, unsure of what word he should use to label the whatever-it-was they were involved in.

"Yeah, I do," Harry answered softly, combing his fingers through Draco's hair. "I want to be able to hold your hand in the corridors and kiss you between classes. I want people to know how I feel about you and know that I'm not interested in anybody else. I'm not ashamed of you, Draco, and I want you to know that."

"Potter…" Draco was at a loss for what to say. "…Harry…I…"

"We don't have to announce it or anything," Potter rushed to say, eyes studying Draco's face with intensity. "It doesn't have to be this big thing that we shout out to the entire school."

The old familiar slither of fear was beginning to spread through Draco at the thought of their relationship being made public knowledge. What would the masses say to Harry when they found out who he had chosen to be with? Not only was Draco male, but he was, well, _Draco Malfoy_. The wizarding world would, without a doubt, be opposed to the idea. They all seemed to somehow believe that they owned the Gryffindor, that he belonged to them. They were constantly showering him with their opinions and validations—how long before those validations turned to criticisms? It wouldn't be the first time they had turned on the brunet, after all. How long would it take for their negativities to begin to wear on Harry? How long until they managed to change his mind about Draco? Draco was not worth Harry's feelings, not worth his attentions and desires. Draco was not worth anything, and everybody in the world except for Harry seemed able to recognize that fact.

Draco did not deserve Harry Potter, and the world would not be satisfied until he was torn from Harry's arms.

What if everybody turned on Potter once they knew? Being a Death Eater sympathizer was just as bad as being a convicted Death Eater in the eyes of the wizarding world. Draco would be blamed for corrupting him and Harry would be looked down on for being seen with him. How long until Harry started to resent him? How long until he decided that Draco really wasn't worth the trouble, after all? How long until he decided he could take no more, leaving Draco a permanently shattered mess of porcelain shards collecting dust on the cold floor behind him?

"What are you thinking?" Potter asked, studying Draco's face as the blond tried not to squirm under the intense stare.

"I…Harry…"

"I know what you're afraid of, Draco," the brunet whispered, wrapping both arms around Draco and holding him tight. "But you don't need to be, I swear it. Nothing could change how I feel about you, especially the stupid opinions of a bunch of people I've never met before. The only ones whose opinions I care about already know." He gazed at Draco with an odd expression, one that took Draco a moment to recognize as hurt. "Do you really have more fear of the future and what everybody else thinks than you do trust in me?"

The question made Draco pause as he considered it. Of course he trusted Harry; that wasn't the problem. He could not deny that he feared the future, but he had good reason to. "Of course I trust you, Harry," he answered softly, sliding both hands up Potter's chest to wrap around his neck. "That's not what I'm afraid of. It's more that—" he struggled to find the words to explain, taking a deep breath before forcing them past reluctant lips, "it's more that I don't trust myself to be enough to keep you. Things always get bad before they get better, and I don't trust myself to be enough to make you want to weather the bad in order to make it to the better. You should be with someone more…someone else." Potter's eyes widened and Draco bit his tongue as he turned away, unwilling to continue with his embarrassing confessions. _I don't deserve you, Harry. I never have and I never will, and that's exactly what the world is going to tell you once they find out about us. They won't rest until you've realized the truth of us—that you are far too good for me and I don't deserve you_.

"No, Draco," Harry's voice whipped out low and fierce. "Not a single word of that is true, don't even say it! You are the _only one _who understands! The only one in this whole world who actually understands! You're the only one I've ever felt this content around, the only one who makes me feel grounded like this, the only one who makes me feel even relatively normal! I was so lost in my own anger before I found you, before I realized that you really are the only one who understands. And I'm not just talking about the war and everything we both went through—I'm talking about the darkness and the loneliness and the pain and rage and grief inside." His voice softened as he pressed his forehead to Draco's, as though desperate to make him understand. "You're the only one I can have entire conversations with without even having to say a single word, the only one who understands me inside and out with just a single look. You're the only one who's ever been this important to me, like you could break me without even trying. I never would have guessed before how _right _the two of us could be together, but we just _are, _Draco. We just are. We're two halves of the same coin, you and I, so opposite and yet so similar.

"I need you, Draco. I need you in my life, I need you near me, I need you _here, _in my arms. But mostly," he pulled back to look Draco in the eye, "I need to know that you trust me. I need to know that you trust me not to turn away from you just because we might have struggles ahead of us, just because we might hear things we don't like from people we've never met. I mean, what else is new for us, right?" The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile, but Draco could see it wavering as his green eyes begged Draco for a response.

But Draco was speechless. Harry's little rant had rendered Draco utterly incapable of even attempting to speak; the only thing he felt able to do was nod as he pulled the brunet in for a kiss, pouring every inch of his feelings into it.

_I've completely fallen in love with you_, he thought, longing to say the terrifying words, longing to match Potter's passionate outpouring of pretty declarations. But Draco was far too craven for such admissions—for most things, really, whatever distorted, incorrect view Potter had of the blond. All he could do was pull Harry as close to himself as he could, feeling the other boy's heartbeat pounding wildly against his own.

"I trust you, Harry," he whispered into Potter's mouth, "more than anything." It wasn't quite the admission of love that Draco could still feel burning beneath his skin, searing through his veins until his entire body felt on fire, but it was the closest he could get to telling Harry what the brunet really meant to him.

It was the only way he would ever be able to say those words.

**TBC**

* * *

A/N: Aww precious insecure lovebirds! But now that we've had the sweetness and the almost-declarations of love, I can promise plenty of drama and upset in the next chapter :)


	4. Parts 7 & 8

A/N: Well, I promised drama and upset, so here it is in all its dramatic, upsetting glory! Yaay :)

* * *

**Like Fire and Rain**

**Part 7**

Harry sighed heavily, frowning down at the food he had mashed into an unrecognizable pulp on his dinner plate. To his right were the ruffling sounds of Hermione thumbing through a large index book and across from him sat Ron, talking to them both about something that Hermione did not care about and Harry was not listening to. Was it Quidditch he was talking about?

Harry sighed again.

Glancing up, he gazed across the room, eyeing the Slytherin table. Draco sat at the very end, looking down at his plate of untouched food. Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis—the only other Slytherin eighth-years to return—were sitting near him, although Draco was far enough away to appear to be sitting alone and it did not look like any of them were speaking.

Another sigh escaped Harry as he finally dropped his fork and gave up on pretending to eat.

The sound caused Hermione to look up from her book, setting it aside to peer at him with concern in her brown eyes. "What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, interrupting Ron as he was enthusiastically gesturing something to do with Quaffles.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, not looking away from Draco as he ignored the restless itch in his spine.

Hermione followed his gaze to the blond Slytherin, frown deepening. "Something to do with Malfoy?" she guessed, lowering her voice. "Are the two of you having problems or something?"

"No, not really," Harry sighed, picking up his fork once more and scraping it against his plate just to have something to do with his fingers, all the while wishing desperately that Hermione did not have to speak so quietly when speaking about Draco and him in public. The frustration that had been welling up inside him over the past few days was beginning to rear its ugly head once more.

Why wouldn't Draco allow their relationship to go public? Harry wanted nothing more than to go sit next to Malfoy and make that sad look on his face disappear, but he couldn't. Because nobody could know about them. What was Draco so afraid of? Harry thought that he knew the reasons—reasons he could understand—but there was a growing fear gnawing away at him that it was something more, some other reason Draco had for not wanting to tell anybody. Did he not feel the same way about Harry that Harry felt about him? Was that what it was? Did he really not trust Harry to stand by him once people found out? Maybe the attention and the mobs and the unwanted fame were just too much for Draco to deal with and he simply wanted to save himself the bother. Harry knew that the blond hated the negative attention he received from the public every bit—if not more—than Harry did.

But Harry would make them stop once they all knew, he would not allow a single person to hurt Draco, not even with words. But how did Harry convince him that he meant it? How did he convince the Slytherin that Harry was deadly serious about him? How did he make him see that what they had between them was real and right and perfect? It was the most real thing Harry had ever known and he just wanted Draco to know that, to be able to trust in that. He wanted to know that Draco trusted him completely, that he trusted what they _had _completely.

"What do you mean 'not really'?" Hermione prodded, interrupting his thoughts and drawing his attention back to the present.

Harry sighed once more. "I just don't get it," he confessed in a low voice. "I've told him a million times that he has nothing to worry about. I don't get why he won't trust me."

"What?" Ron cut in, leaning closer to them both. "This about the whole 'going public' thing again?"

Harry nodded tightly, stabbing at his plate with his fork.

Hermione laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Just give him more time, Harry," she soothed. "That's not exactly an easy thing you're asking of him. He'll let you know when he's ready."

"Yeah," Harry replied listlessly, "except you're forgetting one thing."

"Yes?"

Lifting his gaze, he raised an eyebrow at her. "The word 'Slytherin' was practically invented just to describe him. He's really not the type to go to anyone about how he feels. I _still _don't really even know how he feels about us. I mean, I tell him all the time what he means to me! And he just…doesn't."

Hermione patted his arm again. "Maybe not with words, Harry. Not everyone is good at that. But I'm sure he has his own way of telling you what you mean to him."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry agreed dully, knowing that Hermione was probably right but not wanting to examine it too much further.

"Hi, Harry!" a sudden voice interrupted happily, taking the empty seat to his left. A familiar flowery scent drifted over him as he turned to face Ginny, looking windswept but in good spirits as she began piling her plate with food. "What are the three of you talking about, then?"

Harry flushed at the question, glancing at the other two without responding. Hermione remained silent, frowning at Ron as he smirked across the table.

"The same thing everyone else in this school is talking about," the redhead responded, smirk widening. "We're talking about Harry."

Ginny laughed as Harry flushed an even deeper red, face burning as he glared at Ron.

"Everything's okay, yeah, Harry?" she asked him, still grinning.

"Yeah, fine," Harry answered automatically.

"You know," Ginny said, voice suddenly serious as she turned fully in her seat to look him in the eye, "if things aren't okay, you can always talk to me, you know. I'm always here for you."

"I know," Harry squirmed uncomfortably, feeling guilt roil through him at the earnest gleam in her chocolate-colored eyes. "Thanks, Gin. But really, things are fine."

A warm hand settled on his arm and squeezed comfortingly. "Okay, Harry," she said softly, holding his gaze until he looked away, but she still did not remove her hand, and he was unsure how to pull his arm away without seeming rude.

Smiling tightly at her, he lifted that same arm to rake uncomfortable fingers through his hair, satisfied when Ginny's hand finally fell away, but he could still feel her eyes studying him intently.

Looking away, he glanced back to the Slytherin table, startled when he met Draco's own piercing gaze. He was staring at Harry with narrowed eyes, hands clenched tightly on the table. His lips were thinned and posture tense and Harry wondered what the blond was thinking.

_If people knew about us, I wouldn't have to wonder,_ Harry thought angrily. _I would be able to get up and go tell the bloody prat that I would much rather be sitting next to him than Ginny._

Looking away with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry returned his attention to the Gryffindor table to find Ron frowning at him pointedly, eyes flicking between Harry and Ginny, and Harry had to fight the urge to rip out his own hair.

"Actually," he said slowly, forcing the words up his reluctant throat, "we do need to talk, Gin. I've, er, been meaning to speak with you for a while now."

"Okay, Harry," she said eagerly, pushing her plate away from herself.

Harry's heart began to hammer. "Don't you want to finish your dinner?" he asked, a desperate tinge coloring his words. Was she really thinking it would be anything good he had to say? Christ, he had barely spoken to her at all since term began, only a handful of exchanges between them, and those had all been in well-publicized areas. They had not been alone together in what felt like years, not since an entire lifetime ago, and Harry had secretly been hoping that she had grown impatient and already decided to move on.

"No, we can talk now," she said brightly, rising from the table and waiting.

Heart still threatening to beat from his chest, he glanced miserably at Ron, who gave him a sympathetic look but nodded his head firmly, a frown still marring his face.

"Okay," he sighed, climbing to his feet and following behind her in silent reluctance.

As they made their way toward the doors of the Great Hall, Harry had to fight the urge to look at Draco. He was scared to see the expression Draco wore, scared to know what Draco was thinking as Harry and Ginny exited together.

_Unless he doesn't even care_, Harry thought irritably.

Just as they were nearing the door, Ginny reached back to slip her fingers through his own, tugging him through the exit. He pulled his hand away as the door creaked shut behind them, causing Ginny to turn to him with a frown.

"Let's go somewhere quiet," he muttered, leading her down the corridor until they found an empty classroom. Entering the dark silence, Harry lit the torches with a softly-spoken spell, walking to the center of the room and beginning to pace.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Ginny asked in a cautious tone, but Harry could hear an underlying layer of hope buried beneath the caution.

Raking both hands through his hair, he continued his pacing, unable to look at her for very long. "Er, about us, actually."

"What about us?" she prodded, tone lilting optimistically, and Harry felt sharp guilt claw at his insides.

"Er, well, Gin…I'm not—I mean, I-I don't—" Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and turned to face her. "I know what I said. Before. About us getting back together once the war was over…but…" Dropping his gaze to the floor, he spoke to his shoes as he continued, "But I just don't see that actually happening, and I think it's time I finally told you. I don't want you putting your life on hold, waiting around for me when I've already—" he bit the rest of the sentence off, unwilling to say the words.

"When you've already what?" she asked, voice hard. "I've been waiting around for you for fucking _months _to finally pick back up where we had been when _you _left me. The least you can do is finish whatever the fuck you were about to say, Harry. You made me think we were going to be together again one day, so don't you dare lie to me now." She stepped closer to him, and he looked up to see her glaring, fists clenched tightly at her side. "Don't you dare try to spare my feelings by not telling me the truth. When you've already _what_?"

Harry nodded weakly. "When I've already moved on," he whispered, cringing internally.

"You've already moved on," she repeated coldly, striding suddenly across the floor until she was standing right in front of him, and Harry wondered if she meant to slap him. "Don't do this, Harry," she said without warning, voice now pleading. "Don't do this to us! Why would you do this to us? I love you!"—the words made Harry flinch—"Did you forget how much I love you? I love you more than anyone else ever has! How do you know if you've moved on if you're not even willing to give us a real chance?"

Steeling himself, he looked up into Ginny's face, seeing a sad, angry desperation emanating from her brown eyes. "I'm seeing someone, Gin."

The words made her stagger back a step, appearing as though she had been struck. "What?" she asked in a horrified voice, raising one hand to cover her mouth as she stared at him in disbelief. "You're seeing someone? You're fucking _seeing someone_? What the _fuck_ do you mean you're fucking seeing someone?!"

Harry took a deep breath. "I mean that I'm seeing someone."

The horror on Ginny's face quickly melted away to be replaced by fury. "And how long have you been seeing this person?" Her voice was now icy, sending shivers of guilt and shame racing through Harry.

"Ginny, I don't think—"

"Tell me, Harry!" she shouted, shoving at his chest and forcing him back a step.

"For weeks," he answered helplessly, hating himself for not having had the courage to tell her his feelings had changed at the start. He had known for months now that he did not want to be with her, but like the true coward he was—the one the world refused to acknowledge lived deep inside him—he had kept putting it off, hoping that she would grow bored of his distance and simply give up on him.

"For weeks," she repeated, nostrils flaring. "For fucking _weeks_. And you fucking tell me _now_. Having a good laugh about it with her behind my back, were you?"

"Of course not!" Harry snapped, angry that she would even think that. Did she really not recognize how difficult this was for him? Did she think he was enjoying this? He had never wanted to hurt anybody, especially her. But Harry couldn't make himself feel things he didn't.

And Ginny would never, ever be Draco.

"Right, I'm sure," she sneered, arms folded across her body.

"I'm really sorry, Gin," he apologized, ducking his head. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you."

Ginny laughed coldly. "Who the fuck says I'm hurt? You're not the center of the universe, Harry Potter." Her voice wavered, losing its hard steel edge as she continued, "I think I've waited around for you long enough." The sound of tears crept into her words, thickening her voice although her eyes remained dry. "I think you've kept me waiting around long enough. I don't need your pity and I certainly don't need _you_. I hope you and that bitch are happy together." And with that, she turned on her heel and swept quickly from the room, not looking back as she allowed the door to slam shut behind her.

Insides numb, Harry sank to the floor in a daze, feeling as though the last few minutes had not yet sunk in. Everything felt surreal and strange and he wanted nothing more than to find Draco and take comfort in his embrace. He wanted to bury his face in Draco's shoulder and breathe him in, smell the familiar clean scent of his hair and hold the blond in his arms as tightly as he could. He wanted to lose himself in Draco's kisses until they were both fainting from a lack of oxygen. Harry just wanted to know that Draco felt the same way, that Draco would be there for him in the exact same way. He wanted to know that Draco would always be there for him, no matter what anybody else might think—Harry wanted to know that he meant more to the blond than the opinions of strangers. Harry wanted to know for sure that Draco loved him more than he feared the public and whatever ignorant things they may shout at the both of them; he wanted the blond to know that he would stand by Draco forever and wanted, even more, to know if Draco would stand by him just as strongly. He wanted to be able to take comfort in Draco whenever he liked, whenever he needed, and not just whenever the two of them found spare time to sneak off together. All he wanted was Draco and it seemed like all Draco wanted was to hide from everything.

What would Harry do if Draco's need to hide was greater than his need for Harry? How would he rebuild himself if Draco was the one to break him?

Burying his face in his knees, Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

oOo

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Draco felt restless. He felt restless and anxious and furious and miserable and a thousand other emotions he did not know how to give a name to, all churning and swirling and boiling inside him, making him long to smash something heavy or flee from the room or simply just curl up in a ball on the floor and hide from everything in sight, even himself.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Fingers itching, he tapped the end of his quill rhythmically against the stone desktop of his Potions station, the one he shared with Harry, the one the brunet would be arriving to at any minute. Heart hammering, Draco tried to ignore the terror he could feel welling up inside him with every passing thud of blood surging through his porcelain veins; sometimes he felt as fragile as glass. What would Harry say when he arrived? Would he show up bright and smiling, having finally made up with Ginny Weasley, just like Draco had always feared and known would one day happen? He had seen the two of them leave the Great Hall together the previous evening, Potter following behind her without once glancing over to Draco.

Draco had thought his heart might snap in his chest when he saw the two of them exit the Hall holding hands.

Had Potter finally grown tired of Draco's lack of enthusiasm about announcing their whatever-it-was to the entire world? Had he finally realized that he deserved someone he could proudly showcase to the public, as he so clearly desired? Nobody would dare say that Ginny Weasley was not good enough to be with the Gryffindor Golden Boy—she was, first of all, female; second, a Gryffindor herself; and third, a Weasley, who had all gained war hero status in the aftermath of the final battle. They were a well-recognized and very well-respected family these days, and nobody would dare tell her that she was not good enough to be seen on Harry Potter's arm.

The chair next to him was pulled out sharply, and Draco felt his heart stumble to a dead stop before shooting straight to a million, pounding so hard and fast it made him feel faint.

"Hey, Draco," Potter greeted quietly, beginning to unpack his things.

Eyes fixed firmly on the open textbook spread before him, Draco inclined his head in Harry's direction, trying desperately to make it appear as though he was preparing for the day's lesson.

"I didn't see you yesterday," Potter continued, a frown in his voice. "I looked for you after dinner."

Still refusing to look over, Draco shrugged.

"I really think we should talk," the brunet said in a low voice, and the words made Draco's heart freeze completely as it plummeted down to his toes.

Talk. Potter wanted to talk. That could only be bad. _I really think we should talk._ Had those words ever meant anything good to anyone before? Nothing good ever came from "talks".

So, Potter was leaving Draco for the Weasley girl after all.

Nodding stiffly, Draco nearly sighed with relief as Slughorn called the class to order and they were left with no other option but to turn their attention to the front.

Their potion that day was brewed in absolute silence.

* * *

"So," Potter began, sounding apprehensive and reminding Draco of their first time meeting privately after a Potions lesson.

Refusing to look at Harry, Draco instead stared around at the dusty room they had found to speak in, this one feeling cold and dark and cramped. It felt as though it had been abandoned for years, as though it had never once been used, as though no life or warmth had ever touched it. It felt as though they were the first students to ever step foot through its discarded, long-forgotten doorway.

Draco said nothing, wishing Potter would just get it over with already. He took a deep breath to steel himself, determined not to cry in front of Harry when the brunet finally got around to ripping Draco's heart straight from his chest. At least he had been given the gift of the last few weeks, even if it did not extend past that cold deserted classroom. Draco had always known it would end eventually; he had just hoped it would not be so soon.

Neither of them said anything for what felt like an hour.

"Draco," Potter finally broke the stale quiet that had been growing ever louder.

In response, Draco half-turned his head in the other boy's direction but still did not look at him. If he didn't look at him, he wouldn't be able to see the pity shining out from Potter's pretty green eyes.

"Draco," he tried again.

Draco inclined his head to show he was listening.

"Will you please look at me?" Harry sighed in exasperation as he moved closer to the blond, but all the request resulted in was Draco dropping his gaze to the floor. Did Harry really not realize what a coward Draco was?

Silence fell between them once more, and Draco could feel Potter studying him from a few feet away.

"Are you angry with me?" The words were cautious, but there was an edge to Potter's voice that made Draco instantly want to go on the defensive, sounding as though Draco had no right to be angry with the brunet, which he fucking _did_. Draco was not the one who had skipped off with his ex-girlfriend—current girlfriend, Draco reminded himself bitterly—holding fucking _hands_. He was not the one about to shatter every fragile piece of Draco's glass heart into a million bloodred shards of pained regret.

"This is about yesterday, isn't it?" Harry guessed, striding closer and making it hard for Draco to continue not looking at the prat.

Draco jerked one shoulder in reply, still not saying anything.

"Nothing happened with me and Ginny," Potter said carefully, raising one hand to comb through Draco's long hair, as had become a habit with him over the past few weeks.

But this time, Draco shrugged him off, feeling his own heart constrict as he did so.

"Draco…" Potter sounded hurt, and Draco's heart constricted further. "I needed to speak to her, it wasn't something I _wanted_ to do."

Draco snorted bitterly. Needed to. Right. Just like he had needed to hold hands with her.

"I did need to," Harry said, anger creeping into his words. "I needed to tell her that we weren't getting back together, her and I. I had told her at the end of sixth year when we broke up that we would get back together after everything was over, but I've known for months now that that's not something that's ever going to happen. That wasn't fair to her and it was time I finally told her. Especially considering, you know, _us_."

_Us_, Draco thought sorrowfully. _What us?_

"I told her about us," Potter continued softly, and the words finally succeeded in jerking Draco's head up to meet the serious green gaze staring unblinkingly at him.

"You told her…" Draco felt at a loss for words. "You told her…about _us_?" Panic began to bloom within his chest at an alarming rate, spreading through his limbs and freezing him in place. The smallest Weasley knew about them? Did that mean all the Gryffindors knew? The entire bloody _school_?

"Of course not," Potter frowned, sounding bitter. "I just told her I was seeing someone, I didn't actually tell her it was _you _I'm involved with. Because god forbid anybody should actually know you're my boyfriend or anything, right?"

_Boyfriend…boyfriend…you're my boyfriend…_the word would not stop echoing around Draco's stunned skull. That was the first time either of them had used a word such as _boyfriend_ to describe their involvement, and far from reassuring Draco, it only succeeded in worsening his panic. Fuck, he didn't know how to be anybody's boyfriend—especially not Harry Potter's! It was only yet another inevitable personal defeat, only one more thing Draco was doomed to fail at.

Draco's throat felt parched and he spent several moments struggling to swallow. "Did you tell her you have a…" he could not even say the word.

"No," Harry snapped. "I didn't tell her anything! Calm down already, Jesus!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You don't get to just decide when to announce to people that we're—"

"I didn't tell her anything!" Potter shouted, and Draco could feel the brunet's fury crackle through the room like lightning. "I wouldn't even have had to in the first place though if you weren't so fucking scared of everything! If I was allowed to actually be seen with you in public, I would never have had to be so vague about it in the first place!"

The words were like a knife in Draco's heart. So, Potter really had grown tired of having to sneak around, of having allowed himself to become involved with someone as cowardly and weak and pathetic as Draco. He had always known it would end.

"Maybe there's nothing to tell," Draco said coldly, feeling his heart shrivel up in his chest.

"Yeah, maybe there's not," the brunet shot back, arms folded angrily, "Not according to everybody else, at least."

"And you said you wouldn't rush me about this!"

"I'm not trying to rush you!" Harry cried, an edge of desperation to the angry words. "But I'm starting to feel like you'll never, ever be ready to tell _anybody_ about us! What are you so fucking scared of?!"

Narrowing his eyes, Draco willed himself not to cry. "Everything, apparently," he replied icily, feeling as though the snow littering the grounds outside had somehow also littered his insides, taken up residence in his soul until he was nothing more than a numbed, frozen block of miserable cowardice.

"Fuck, Draco!" Harry ran his hands roughly through his hair, tugging on the ends in agitation. "That's not what I fucking meant and you know it!"

"I hope you and Weasley are happy together," Draco sneered, ignoring the obvious catch in his voice. "I hope it will finally make you happy to be able to parade around the school with someone worthy on your arm."

"Goddamnit, Draco!"

"Enjoy your brave spotlight, Potter." And with that, Draco had had enough. Swallowing back the pain threatening to cripple him from the inside, he attempted to storm from the room, only to be stopped when Harry grabbed his bicep in a fierce grip.

"Just let me explain," the brunet growled, fingers tightening.

But Draco did not want any more explanations or half-hearted apologies. He just wanted to be left alone so he could curl into a ball and allow himself to be blown away on the cold winter wind, blown far away from the entire world on a stormy breeze of his own self-loathing. Wrenching his arm from Potter's bruising grasp, he rushed from the cramped, forsaken classroom, ignoring the desperate shout of his own name echoing behind him, refusing to slow until he was safe in the small dorm room he shared with Blaise.

Collapsing onto his bed, he spelled the curtains shut and threw up several silencing charms, finally allowing himself to fall to pieces.

He had never deserved Harry in the first place.

**Part 8**

Harry felt worn out. The fight with Draco the previous day would not stop replaying in his head over and over, stuck on a constant loop of harshly spoken words and fierce regret. How had things gone so wrong? A day later and Harry still wasn't sure what to make of it, feeling empty and exhausted and confused and angry, head stuck in a permanent cloud of thick disbelief. Had he and Draco really broken up? The thought made Harry snort bitterly. They would have actually had to have been together to have broken up, and Draco had made it clear that there had been "nothing to tell" between them. At least it was better to find out now rather than later that Draco's feelings for Harry had not been the same as Harry's feelings toward him. Harry had known that Draco struggled with the idea of the two of them going public with their involvement, for a list of different reasons, but Harry had honestly not expected _that _to be the thing that tore them apart.

Had Harry been expecting them to one day be torn apart? Had their entire relationship been doomed to fail from the very start? Or had it only failed because they both had been expecting it to fail? Harry hoped that their feelings for one another would have been stronger than that.

Maybe neither one of them had had enough faith in the other.

Sighing heavily, Harry studied the Marauder's Map still clutched in his hands, staring sadly down at Draco's unmoving dot, ensconced safely away in the Slytherin dorms. The dot had been unmoving for hours, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy was lying on his bed, thinking about Harry, just like Harry was lying on his bed up in Gryffindor Tower thinking about Malfoy.

Blaise Zabini's dot was also in the room with Draco, and Harry couldn't help the glare he could feel sharpening his face. What were the two of them doing together in the room? Talking? Studying? Ignoring one another? The questions made Harry want to scream.

Shoving the Map away from himself in anger, he buried his face in his arms, body stretched out horizontally atop his mattress.

_I hope it will finally make you happy to be able to parade around the school with someone worthy on your arm. _

Every word Draco had spat at him the previous day still echoed through his mind, but it was that statement that Harry could not seem to let go of.

_I hope it will finally make you happy to be able to parade around the school with someone worthy on your arm. _

Did Draco really think that Harry was the type to parade around doing _anything_, let alone showcase his relationship to the public? Harry didn't want attention, he just wanted to be able to hold Draco's hand in the corridors, for fuck's sake! Why couldn't Draco just see that it wasn't about announcing they were together, it was simply about being allowed to actually _be_ together?

…_with someone worthy on your arm_…_someone worthy…_

Was that the real underlying fear behind Draco's reluctance? That he himself did not think he was worthy to be seen in public with Harry? The thought made Harry's body tense with frustration. Why was Draco allowing his insecurities to destroy everything beautiful that had been growing between them? Why couldn't he just trust in Harry's feelings for him instead of listening solely to his own damaging sense of self-deprecation? Was this the Slytherin's own twisted way of trying to protect himself? Self-preservation was the ruling trait amongst the Slytherins; was this Malfoy's own mental way of achieving it? Self-preservation through loneliness and unhappiness?

Harry felt his fists clench. Fuck, why was Draco so fucking complicated? Why did Harry have to fall for the most complex and self-compartmentalizing student in the entire school? What was Malfoy so afraid of?!

The image of Draco lying bloodied and sobbing on the floor of a hidden corridor suddenly crashed through Harry's mind, making him grit his teeth, his stomach churning as a wave of nausea swept through him. All right, so maybe Draco really did have good reasons for being afraid. The nation had made it more than clear how they felt about the blond, after all.

But damn it, Harry would not allow that to happen ever again! The memory still haunted him; no matter what happened between them, even if Draco now hated him and wanted nothing more to do with him, Harry would not allow any harm to come to Malfoy.

Even if he was a stupid git who had broken Harry's heart.

The soft sound of a doorknob turning and the door to the dorm being pushed open pulled Harry from his spiral of painful, confused, contradictory thoughts. Rolling his head to the side, Harry watched Ron and Hermione enter, both staring at him before exchanging a glance. They strode over to sit side-by-side on the bed next to his, both gazing at him with concern.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, peering at him closely with worry in her eyes.

"You missed dinner," Ron frowned. "You've been up here for hours."

Responding with a shrug, Harry stayed silent, still stretched out face-down on his mattress.

"Malfoy wasn't at dinner either," Ron added, and Harry wasn't sure if his tone was more prodding or suspicious. "Something happen between the two of you?"

"Nothing at all," Harry mumbled listlessly, burying his face in his folded arms. Even without looking, he could feel Ron and Hermione exchange another look.

"You can talk to us, you know, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry heard her rise before he felt his mattress dip as she sank down next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "About anything."

A lump formed in his throat as he nodded, face still squashed in the darkness of his arms.

"Come on, Harry," Ron leaned forward to nudge his arm. "Just tell us what's wrong already. Did you and Malfoy have a row or something?"

"You could say that," Harry sighed, voice muffled.

"Was it bad then?"

Harry laughed humorlessly. "You could say that."

Hermione rubbed his arm soothingly. "I'm sure after you both cool down a bit you'll get it all sorted."

The fury from earlier returned and Harry sat up without warning, climbing to his feet and beginning to pace angrily around the dorm. "No, actually, we won't get it sorted. 'Cos the stupid insecure prat has decided it would just be easier if we weren't together at all. Because god forbid anybody should find us about us, right? Because literally nothing in the whole world could be worse than the school finding out about the two of us! He'll let me suck him off in broom cupboards but god fucking forbid I even _think_ about holding his hand where anyone else could see! I mean, fuck! Is the prospect of being seen in public with me really so horrible? Is the idea of the two of us walking to class together or being able to eat meals together really so terrifying? I mean, why can't we be like all the other normal annoying couples in Hogwarts? Why did I have to fall so hard for someone who's fear of the world is greater than his feelings for me? Does he honestly think that I would choose to go back to Ginny _now_ of all times when I could have gotten back together with her for fucking _months_?! How many times have I told him how much I care about him and what he means to me? And he thinks I'm just going to forget all that the second anyone looks at us with disapproval? Does he think that's not something we should both be used to by now? When have I ever let the opinions of strangers shape my life? And he thinks I'm going to start _now_, over the most important thing that's ever happened to me?! Does he really think I can't make up my own fucking mind about how I feel without considering the worthless opinions of a bunch of people I've never even met before?! I mean, _parade_?! Fucking _parade_! What the fuck is with that word anyway? Jesus fucking Christ, though, fucking _parade_!" By the time he finished speaking, he was breathing heavily, feeling winded and angry, fists clenched as he tried to rid himself of the desire to punch a wall or throw something through a window.

Fucking Malfoy.

_I can't even remember what it was like to hate you._

The words Harry had spoken to Draco so many weeks ago crashed through his mind without warning, taking the angry wind from his sails and making him feel suddenly deflated. He had meant what he said; he didn't think he could ever hate Malfoy again, even if he was still furious at the blond.

Collapsing onto a bed, Harry glanced over to Ron and Hermione, who were both staring at him with matching expressions of surprise on their faces. They exchanged a long look with one another, seeming to hold an entire conversation with their eyes alone, before turning to Harry as one.

"Did he really break up with you, Harry?" Ron asked seriously, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Harry nodded miserably. "I mean, he didn't say the exact words, but he never actually does. He said it just as clearly as he's said everything else."

Ron swore in a low voice. "That fucking prat. Why would he dump _you_? I always thought when the two of you broke up, it would be _you_ leaving _him_, not the other way around." The statement made Harry's heart clench. _When the two of you broke up._ When, not if. Had every single one of them been expecting it to end? "That vain little shit, I'll beat his skinny arse for this."

"No," Harry said sharply, eyes narrowing. "Don't even joke about that, Ron." The image of Malfoy lying on the floor, too injured to defend himself or even move without help, made Harry feel sick.

"Who said I was joking?" Ron muttered, cracking his neck.

"Don't!" Harry snapped, previous anger returning. "Don't even say something like that! That doesn't make me feel better to hear it and you know why!"

"Yeah, all right," Ron mumbled uncomfortably, speaking to the floor. "Sorry."

"Harry, it's going to be okay," Hermione said, coming to sit next to Harry in order to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "I know the two of you are not on the best of terms at the moment,"—Harry snorted bitterly—"but it will be okay. Everything will work itself out, you'll see. It's like you said, he's just scared. A lot of people would be about being thrust into the spotlight of an entire nation. I know you hate all the attention you get and that the things said about you certainly have not always been good, but at least now it's all positive." Harry glared at the floor. "Harry," she continued, thick curls tickling his face, "please look at me." Sighing heavily, he turned his head a fraction to meet her gaze out of the corner of his eye. She was not smiling. "The entire nation already hates him. And he's only going to be vilified even further once people find out about the two of you."

Harry's stomach dropped. "What do you mean 'vilified'?" he asked slowly.

Hermione gave him a look that spoke volumes. "I mean," she began, speaking in the patient tones she reserved for Harry and Ron when she found them to be particularly stupid, "how many death threats do you think he's already received? How many people think the name 'Malfoy' when they think 'Death Eater'? You were the one who found him when he had been attacked so badly he could barely stand, even with your help. You were the one who stopped another attack on him that very same day that may even have resulted in his life." Her words had succeeded in catching Harry's attention, and he turned his head fully to face her. "You said yourself that Zacharias hated him simply for _surviving_. Harry, if people were to find out about the two of you, how many of them do you think will calmly accept that you are with him of your own free will?" She waited until Harry had shrugged, insides feeling numb. "He'll be accused of having forced you into it, slipped you a love potion somehow or placed you under a curse. They'll think he used Dark magic on you, they will scream every mistake he's ever made and every reason the two of you should not be together right in his face, in both of your faces. They'll compare him to his father and blame him for every single thing his family has ever done. Harry," she slipped her hand into his and squeezed his ice-cold fingers, "they will try their hardest to crucify him with his own shame and insecurity. The public will do their best to turn you against him." The words made Harry open his mouth furiously, intent on arguing that that would never happen, but Hermione continued speaking before he could. "I'm not saying that every single person out there is horrible or would do something like that, and I'm certainly not saying that all of them would care. But there are enough of them that would and do that it is a real concern. Even you can't deny that you have more than a bit of a cult fanbase, at this point.

"And, Harry," her voice turned soft, "even if _we_ don't see the world that way, you know that he does. I'm sure that he expects that once it gets out, he'll be torn away from you by the public's own bloodlust. And I suspect that a large part of him wanting the two of you to remain a secret is his desire to protect _you_ from all of this."

Harry's head snapped up in surprise. "Protect _me_?" Hadn't Hermione just been saying that it would be _Draco_ at risk?

"Yes," she squeezed his hand again, voice still soft. "He knows how much you hate all the attention you receive. Maybe he's trying to protect you from receiving even more. You know once the Daily Prophet gets wind of your relationship, there's no stopping the entire nation from knowing. Maybe he's worried that you'll end up associating all the increased attention and constant speculation with him specifically and one day end up hating him for it."

_I just don't want you to end up resenting me if people start looking down on you for our involvement._

Draco's voice was suddenly reverberating through Harry's stunned mind, the statement ricocheting around his skull in clamoring echoes until he was feeling nearly dizzy from the force of it. Maybe Harry had wanted to know that Draco trusted him so badly that he had overlooked the real reasons behind Draco's fear.

"I wouldn't ever let anybody hurt him," Harry whispered, horror swirling through him at the thought.

Hermione smiled sadly. "It's not only fists that can hurt him, Harry. Not even you can protect him from everything."

"But none of that other shit matters to me!" Harry cried, feeling nearly desperate. "I don't care what everybody else thinks or says!"

"Maybe you don't," she conceded, still holding his hand tightly. "But he does, Harry. He always has. Your upbringings were so vastly different. I know that you have never cared about the opinions of others, but a large part of that is due to the way you were brought up. You were forced at a young age not to care what others thought of you because you were always used to being looked down on and ignored. The only way to survive was to not care what everybody around you thought. But you know that Malfoy has always cared what others think of him. He was taught to since birth. Good social standing has always defined the Malfoys, always been a driving principle in their lives. I mean, you have met his parents, haven't you? You have been to his ridiculously oversized estate, have you not? He was taught to value appearances and social opinions his entire life. And I think that he truly cannot believe that one could ever live in the spotlight without caring what anybody thinks of them. It's a foreign concept to him." She squeezed his hand again, clenching tighter and tighter until Harry finally looked up to meet her somber stare. "Harry, I really don't think he's doing this to hurt you. I think he's unknowingly pushing you away to protect the both of you."

A sudden throat clearing snapped their attention to Ron, who was frowning. "Not to argue or play devil's advocate with you, Hermione, but it _is_ Draco Malfoy we're talking about. I mean, neither of us have spoken to him all year. We certainly don't know what he's thinking or how he feels about Harry. Not even Harry knows. How do you know he hasn't just been playing Harry as some twisted form of Slytherin revenge?"

"Oh, Ronald," she sighed pityingly, tucking a thick strand of hair behind one ear with her free hand, "because of the way he looks at Harry when he thinks nobody else is watching."

At the statement, spoken so simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, Harry felt his eyes widen. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully, clutching at her hand as though it was a lifeline, one keeping him above thrashing waves threatening to pull him under.

"It's like you're his entire world," she smiled, covering the hand she held with her free palm. "When he thinks nobody else is watching, he looks at you as though he's lived in darkness his entire life and has only finally now been given a glimpse of the sun. You can't fake that sort of affection. That's why I've never protested the two of you being together. I've been watching him these past few weeks and whenever the two of you are in a room together, you're all he seems able to see. He's in love with you, Harry, it's plain as day."

"…in love with me…?" Harry repeated in a daze, unsure how to respond or even what to feel. His heart began to hammer as hope sprang fiercely to life in his chest, threatening to crack his ribs from the inside with its force. "You really…you really think he's in love with me?"

"Yes," Hermione answered simply. "I really do."

"And," Harry hesitated, glancing at Ron, "the both of you are okay with that?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione answered kindly, patting his hand, "if that's what will make you happy. We just want you to be happy, because if there's anybody in this world who deserves to be, it's you."

"She's right, mate," Ron agreed. "I thought you would be happy after the war ended because all that shit was finally over with, you know? But you weren't. And I never really got that. And I'm not sure I get this either, but I do know that ever since you and Malfoy started this whatever-it-is between you, you've been different. You finally seemed happy for the first time in forever. I don't want you to go back to the way you were before, Harry, when you were angry all the time at everything around you."

As he stared between his two best friends with shock on his face, Harry felt a lump forming in his surprised throat. "Thank you," he whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Seriously."

Hermione patted his hand again. "We love you, you know, Harry. More than anything. And I'll admit that Draco Malfoy has never been my favorite individual. But I also believe that you don't have it in you to love a bad person. If you care about him this much, then I believe that there really is something inside him worth caring about. Every one of us deserves to be loved."

"Love…?" Harry's eyes widened. Did he love Draco? He could not stop replaying Hermione's words from earlier—_He's in love with you, Harry, it's plain as day._

Did Draco really love him? Did Harry love him back? Was love the thing that had been growing between them? If love really _had_ been growing between them, it should still be there for the both of them, right? If love was anything like how Harry had heard it described, it was not something so easily shattered.

Hermione smiled gently. "It's okay to admit it to yourself, Harry. Ron and I already know."

Harry flushed, ducking his head as he fought an unexpected smile. After all, Hermione had never been wrong before. Maybe he really was in love with Draco Malfoy, after all.

**TBC**

* * *

A/N: Resolutions coming soon, lovers! Next chapter will be the last, and I just do not believe in any ending that is not a happy one. Life is miserable enough, the least our stories could do is end on a happy note, right? Right :)


	5. Parts 9 & 10

A/N: Welcome to the final conclusion! I hope everyone is ready, because we have it all in this chapter—sappiness, violence, and smut! The ultimate storybook trinity :)

* * *

**Like Fire and Rain**

**Part 9**

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was far too bright, in Draco's opinion. Just because the winter sun outside was shining down like a harsh, overly-vivid spotlight did not mean that the ceiling had to reflect it just as intensely. Sighing, Draco wished it was snowing, longing for the muted grey safety of an overcast sky. He wanted the wind to howl and storm, wanting the weather outside to match everything he was feeling inside.

He and Harry really were over, weren't they?

Picking up the nearest utensil, he stabbed moodily at his breakfast, wishing it was still the weekend. He had not seen Harry since their fight, spending nearly the entire weekend locked away in his dorm down in the dungeons, wishing he could fall from the world simply by willing it. He couldn't help but wonder how Potter had passed the time. Had he spent it thinking about Draco? Had he spent it in the company of his Gryffindor sidekicks? Or—Draco's stomach twisted at the thought—had he spent it in the arms of Ginevra?

Sighing, Draco attempted, for what was possibly the millionth time, to get his mind off Harry, but he already knew it was no use. Harry was all he had thought about for the entirety of the school term, he was hardly going to be able to stop thinking of him now. Especially when all he wanted was to throw himself in Potter's arms and plead with him to give Draco a second chance.

Harry had been right; how could Draco have allowed his insecurities to rip apart everything beautiful that had been building between them? Now, Draco was left with nothing _but_ his insecurities. No Harry, no comfort, no safety, no future.

Feeling sick, Draco pushed his mostly-full plate of food away, sipping at his tea and staring down at his own reflection rippling across its dark surface, eyes narrowing as he was struck with the sudden urge to fling the cup across the room, watch it smash to pieces against the unyielding stone of the nearest wall. What had Harry ever seen in him in the first place? Someone broken and pathetic, in desperate need of saving. And saving others was what Harry Potter did; the man was a hero to his very core, sacrificing his life and everything in it for strangers. It meant nothing personal that Potter had tried to save him as well.

Fingers itching, Draco set the teacup back down, unable to resist glancing up to the Gryffindor table. The moment he did, however, he was grateful that he had already set down the cup he had been holding, for he surely would have dropped it. Harry was looking right at him, and Draco heard a soft gasp slip from his own mouth. What startled him most, though, was the expression on Potter's face. He did not look angry or disgusted like Draco would have expected him to appear when staring directly at the blond.

No, Harry looked _longing_. As though he wanted nothing more than to cross the Hall and gather Draco in his arms, maybe even nearly as much as Draco wanted Potter to hold him and never let go.

Draco could feel his cheeks reddening, could feel the blush spreading and staining his porcelain features, but he was completely unable to look away when Potter was looking at him like that. As though he still cared for Draco; as though Draco was somehow the most important thing in the world.

They continued to stare at one another, neither turning away. All the noise—the laughter and chatter, scraping of chairs and crunching of toast floating loudly throughout the large room, all faded away to nothing more than a distant buzzing in the background. There was nothing in the world but Harry Potter, and Draco could no longer deny that Harry Potter was his entire world.

And he always would be.

As they stared into one another's eyes, Draco was amazed that the rest of the student body was somehow still going about their normal morning business without noticing the tangible sparks that were building between the intense gazes of the two boys. It felt like a moment that should have captured the attention of every single person around them; it was a moment that should have brought the entire world to a crashing halt. There was an entire lightning storm of longing and lust brewing between Harry and Draco, and Draco had to physically hold onto the edge of the table to prevent himself from sprinting over to the brunet and pleading for a kiss.

Someone suddenly shouted Potter's name, effectively snapping the Gryffindor's attention away from Draco, the sharp, magnetic moment coming to an abrupt end, and Draco was not sure if he was more relieved or more disappointed. Exhaling a shaky breath, he rose from the table, no longer able to remain in the Great Hall. Attempting to adopt a slow, casual stride was nearly impossible to achieve, Draco's own cowardly brain frantically whispering at him to _runrunrunrunrun. _

As he exited the Hall, he could feel, just as certainly as if he'd been looking into them, two familiar green eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. The desire to turn around in order to check to see if Potter really was staring at him was strong enough to nearly freeze Draco in place, but he somehow managed to continue dragging his feet forward.

Once on the other side of the door, he was able to breathe easier.

Hurrying down the corridor, praying that Harry would come after him and hoping fervently that the brunet would not follow, Draco made his way to his first class of the day, dreading the upcoming Potions class at the same time he found himself eager and impatient for its arrival. He was not sure if he was more grateful or relieved that Potions was the last class of the day. What would Potter say when they had no choice but to interact? What would Draco say when he was once again face-to-face with the man he was so clearly in love with?

Draco shook his head in self-deprecation, snorting wryly. If only he had been brave enough to tell Harry how he felt when it would have made a difference; if only Draco had ever been brave enough to return the declarations of affection that Harry had constantly been spouting at him in true Gryffindor fashion.

Would it still make a difference if Draco were to tell him? Or was it too late? But even if Draco did tell him how he truly felt and Harry returned the sentiment, would it not simply put them right back where they had been before the awful fight? Harry would still want to shout their involvement from every tower in the castle, and Draco would still be a pathetic coward too weak to be seen in public with the Chosen One.

Draco's feelings for the brunet did not change the fact that Harry Potter deserved so much more than Draco Malfoy. Draco would never be able to give the brunet the things he really needed, the things he really deserved. Draco couldn't even hold his hand in public; he couldn't even tell Harry how he bloody _felt_.

Sighing heavily, Draco continued shuffling down the corridor. _This is going to be a long Monday._

* * *

The scratching of his quill, normally a sound Draco found to be calming, was doing little to slow the racing of his heart. Harry should be arriving at the Potions room at any moment. In an effort to distract himself from his impending heart attack, Draco had allowed the thick Potions book to fall open to a random page, pulling a blank parchment from his bag and beginning to copy down the text word-for-word. It had done little so far, however, to distract him from the hammering in his chest, the sweat on his palms, the trembling of his fingers.

What would happen when Harry arrived?

But the next second, Draco no longer had to wonder. The chair next to his had been pulled out, Potter settling into it and beginning to quietly unpack his bag. It felt as though Draco's heart might either stop completely or else hammer so fast it was sure to beat its way straight through his ribcage. Fingers still shaking, Draco gripped his quill tighter, trying to force his hand to continue copying the text, but his limbs were stiff and uncooperative, and he may as well have been writing in Mermish for all he could read of his own handwriting.

"Hey, Draco," the voice next to him greeted quietly, and Draco took a deep breath before turning his head a fraction to acknowledge the brunet without actually having to look at him.

"Hello, Potter," he returned just as softly. The panic in his bloodstream began to spread outwards, slithering through his entire body until it was not blood being pumped from his heart but pure panic. What would happen now? What would Potter say? How should Draco respond? What was Potter expecting of him? What was Draco expecting of himself? The howling questions swirling through his mind refused to be silenced, making Draco feel dizzy and sick.

Dropping the quill, he lowered both hands to his lap and allowed his hair to swing forward, grateful it was long enough to act as a curtain between the two of them. He needed some sort of barrier between them if he was to have any hope of surviving the century-long class.

"Look," Harry sighed, and Draco heard a thousand different emotions buried in that single word, "I really need to talk to you. I really think we—"

His words died as a sudden clapping drew the attention of every student, a hush falling over the room. Still hidden behind his hair as much as he was able to, Draco picked up his quill with a feeling of relief, turning his full attention back to his notes. And as Slughorn announced that the class period that day would solely be a lecture period, saving the actual brewing of the potion for later in the week, Draco felt as though he could weep with silent gratitude.

Trying his hardest to keep his mind from focusing on what Harry had been about to say, Draco began taking notes, attempting to ignore everything that was not the sound of Slughorn's voice.

All he could do was pray that Harry did not notice his fingers trembling.

oOo

The sun was setting. Steps slowing, Harry crossed the corridor to the nearest window, pausing to watch the rose-colored sun sink behind the distant, dusky horizon, the wispy silver moon gradually growing more distinct in the soft, encroaching purple of the vast winter sky. It was growing dark but Harry knew it was not that late; dinner had not yet even started. Sighing, Harry tried to memorize the burnt-pink of the sunset before it faded, varying shades of honey and wine all swirling together to reflect off the lavender-colored heavens.

Standing at the window and staring out at the grounds like that, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of his and Draco's very first kiss, the two of them standing by an open window watching the rain together as they spoke in quiet voices, right before exchanging a kiss that Harry had felt throughout his entire being.

That was the moment he had fallen in love with Draco.

_Draco_.

Harry sighed again. Immediately after Slughorn had dismissed the class, Malfoy had fled, despite Harry already having asked if they could speak. The sight of the blond practically running away from him would have seriously discouraged Harry if not for the look that Draco had briefly shot his direction before he turned and ran—the look had been one of absolute yearning, as though he longed for nothing more than to sink into Harry's embrace and never resurface. There had been sadness and a softness in Draco's eyes, giving Harry hope that things were maybe not completely destroyed between the two of them, after all.

Turning his head, Harry glanced up and down the corridor, willing to wait as long as it took. The entrance to the Great Hall was around the nearest corner, meaning that Draco would have to pass by Harry on his way to dinner, and Harry was already decided that the second he saw the blond, he would ask to speak to him again.

They were going to fix this—Harry was determined.

The only drawback to the plan was how noisy and packed the corridor was. Crowds of students were lingering in the hallway, talking and laughing in large groups. Harry heard his name called out more than once, returning the greetings half-heartedly with a frown, praying that nobody would attempt to approach him.

Feeling restless and impatient, Harry wandered further down the hall away from the other students, pacing slowly down the corridor to the staircase and peering up and down in an attempt to spot Draco. Where was he? He was planning on eating dinner, wasn't he?

Still frowning, Harry had nearly talked himself into heading down to the dungeons to check for the blond when he heard sharp laughter ring out along the corridor, snapping his attention back in the direction he had just wandered away from. Discomfort tightened his stomach—there had been something off about the sound of that laughter. It had sounded neither happy nor carefree—it had sounded _cruel_.

Heart pounding and limbs wary, Harry headed back the way he had come, noting a large crowd of students grouped together at the far end of the corridor, all standing in a thick circle and looking down at something on the floor. Dread settled in Harry's stomach as he quickened his stride, knowing without needing to be told that something awful had happened. More laughter rang out sharply, echoing off the cold stone walls. As he neared the group of cackling students, Harry felt his heart seize in his chest as he stumbled to a halt in dread.

Draco was sprawled across the floor, bag split and face flushed with embarrassment. The sight made Harry's blood boil, and he began glancing around wildly, desperate to find whoever it was that had attacked Malfoy.

As quietly as he was able to, Draco hastily began to pick himself up off the floor, repairing his bag and shoving his spilled belongings back inside, pushing himself to his feet and attempting to hurry away from the jeering crowd. He had only taken two steps, however, when a Trip Jinx caught him and he once more fell to the ground, landing with a heavy crash, face twisting in pain and humiliation.

Harry felt rage seize his entire being in a fierce grip, angry eyes still scanning the crowd even as he began to push his way through to Malfoy. But he was not fast enough. Before he could reach Draco, another spell was cast, and Harry cried out in horrified indignation as all of Malfoy's school books were levitated, only to throw themselves through the air at Malfoy, and Harry heard the heavy books strike Draco with hard thumps, bouncing off him before flying back to hit him again, Draco cringing in pain as the crowd of onlookers laughed.

Harry felt as though he might explode.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, he whipped out his wand and cast the strongest _Finite_ he could, relieved when the books immediately dropped to the floor. Glancing up, Harry noticed, standing just slightly forward from the rest of the crowd, face carved grotesquely in a large smirk, stood a stocky Gryffindor sixth-year that Harry knew by sight but not by name. The boy had his wand held in a tight grip and pointed directly at Malfoy, a vicious grin stretching his face. Harry felt every ounce of self-control crumble inside him as he strode forward, shoving everybody out of his way until the sixth-year boy finally noticed Harry's furious approach. His eyes widened but the smirk never left his face.

Not until Harry punched it off, at least.

Seizing the attacker by the collar, Harry drew his arm back before snapping it forward, slamming his fist into the boy's mouth and feeling satisfied as the cruel smile finally fell from the prat's lips. The laughter that had been polluting the corridor vanished, replaced by whispers and confusion as Harry sank his knuckles into the boy's stomach.

"If I _ever_," Harry growled, shaking the other boy roughly, "_ever!"—_the next punch was on the cheekbone—"see you attack him again, I will rip your entire wand arm off your fucking body!" With one last snap of his arm, Harry smashed his fist into the other boy's nose, glaring down at him in disgust before allowing the boy to drop heavily to the floor, eyes wide and frightened as he gazed up at Harry in absolute shock.

Turning his glare onto the confused crowd of onlookers, Harry ignored the throbbing in his bruised knuckles as he moved to stand in front of Draco. "That goes for every single person here," he snarled furiously. "You all better fucking believe me when I say that the next person to hurt him or attack him or even fucking _look_ at him wrong will not get off as easy as that piece of shit on the floor over there!" The crowd turned as one to look down at the Gryffindor sixth-year still collapsed in a whimpering heap.

Ignoring everybody else, Harry turned to face Draco, who was looking up at him in surprise, mouth slightly open and face flushed pink. Feeling the glare on his face finally melt away, Harry reached out one hand to help pull the blond to his feet. For several heart-stopping moments, he was terrified that Draco would refuse to take it, but after what felt like years but was most likely only seconds, a warm palm slid into Harry's own and he was tugging Malfoy to his feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, somehow resisting the urge to comb his fingers through Draco's hair or pull him in for a hug. A sudden desperation gripped him as he hoped that Malfoy would not be angry at him for interfering so publicly.

Draco nodded hesitantly. "What are you…" the question trailed off into silence, both boys ignoring the continued whispers still hissing through the air all around them.

"Are you hurt, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "No, but…Harry…"

"Can we please talk now?" Harry pleaded quietly, clenching his fists at his side to keep from touching the blond.

Fear crept into Malfoy's eyes as he looked around at the spectators still surrounding the two of them, and Harry's heart nearly stopped as he recognized Draco's insecurities threatening to once again rear their ugly head.

The next second, however, Harry's heart really did stop as Draco grabbed a hold of the back of Harry's neck and tugged him forward to meet him in a kiss that stole the breath straight from his lungs. The surprise lasted nearly a second before Harry felt himself melt completely, returning the kiss with everything he had, wrapping both arms around Draco's waist and holding tightly.

"Draco," Harry pulled back far enough to whisper, lifting one hand to comb through Draco's hair with his fingers. God, he had missed this the last few days. "Draco, are you sure?"

Malfoy shut his eyes as he nodded frantically. "Yes, Harry. Yes, I'm sure. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."

"It's okay," Harry smiled, feeling as though he might just burst with sudden happiness, "it's okay. I'm sorry, too. I've missed you so much, you have no idea."

"I think I might," Draco chuckled, face bright red. "Can we—can we go somewhere and talk? Somewhere that's just the two of us?"

"Yes," Harry said simply, and without another word, he pulled back, slipping his hand into Draco's and tugging him away from the shocked spectators, all staring at the two of them with their mouths hanging open. Ignoring every one of them, the two boys pushed past with hardly a glance, Harry's heart pounding fiercely with joy as he peeked at Draco out of the corner of his eye.

Had any of that really just happened? Had Draco really been the one to announce their relationship to the public through a mind-melting kiss? Harry could not remember ever feeling lighter, and he clutched at Malfoy's hand to keep himself from drifting up to the ceiling and floating away, a large grin threatening to crack his face wide open.

Draco had just kissed him in public. Draco still wanted to be with him. He had finally let go of his insecurities enough to give them a real chance and Harry was determined that this time, they would do it right. Neither of them would have any more doubts about how they felt for the other or how the two of them would fit into each other's lives.

This time, everything would be perfect.

oOo

Draco was convinced that he had somehow lost his mind. Sometime during the past few minutes, his mind had slipped right out of his head like a breathless whisper, fallen through his ears to dissolve into the air like smoke, never to be found again.

Oddly enough, however, it wasn't a terrifying prospect. Not if the reward was the feeling of Harry's palm in his own, warm and steady and safe, anchoring him to the world in a way he had feared he would never again know. He wasn't quite sure what it was that had possessed him to kiss the Gryffindor in front of so large a crowd, other than the way Harry had raced to his rescue without hesitation, no matter all the terrible things Draco had said to him or the way he had fled from the Potions room without a single word. Harry had defended him, in front of everyone. He had attacked a fellow Gryffindor for Draco.

And the way Harry had looked…green eyes flashing, ebony hair crackling with anger, perfect body tensed tight with delicious rage, standing in front of Draco and threatening anybody who even _looked_ at him wrong…it made Draco shiver just to think about. Harry really did think that Draco was worth defending. Harry had faced down his admirers for Draco, completely unafraid of them turning on the brunet.

Draco's body felt light and tingly, trapped in disbelief as he attempted to sort out everything that had happened over the past several minutes. It had all happened so quickly, he was unsure of what to make of it. He had been wandering down the crowded corridor, head ducked down as he avoided meeting anybody's gaze, when his bag had suddenly split, spilling his belongings everywhere a second before another spell had reached out to snatch at his ankles, sending him crashing to the floor to the sounds of laughter and jeers.

He remembered the way his face had burned red with shame and humiliation, feeling panic smother him like fog until he could hardly see through the thick haze of sudden fright. Desperately, he had tried to escape, only for the same spell to catch him again before he had managed to make it out of the circle of onlookers. The ringing laughter had seemed to tear straight into him, hack right through him, slicing at his insides until he was nothing but a tattered pile of pathetic embarrassment, nothing but ignominious shreds of pale skin and public disgrace.

In the safety of his own head, Draco could admit to himself that he had been terrified in that moment. His entire body had frozen in fear, staring up in alarm at the dozens of sneering faces all towering over him, cruel laughter ringing in his ears as they threw taunts and jeers just as effective at holding him in place as the spells that had sent him crashing to the floor. His own belongings had then been hexed to attack him, and Draco couldn't help but rub at one of the large bruises on his shoulder with his free hand. He would never admit to anybody just how painful and frightening the situation had been.

But then, Harry had been there. The brunet had simply appeared like the storybook hero he was, and Draco was only slightly embarrassed to admit how sexy he found Harry's protectiveness to be. Had anybody ever stood up for him like that before? Had anybody ever really defended him, ever in his life? Had anybody ever before seen him as someone worthy of being defended?

Unable to resist the solidness of the warm fingers entwined with his own, Draco gave Harry's hand a squeeze, grateful relief spreading through him when Harry turned his head to offer Draco a smile.

"My dorm will be empty," the blond said quietly, forcing the words out through his terror. Was the room Draco slept in too intimate a setting for the talk they needed to have? Would it put the wrong sort of pressure on the two of them and only confuse them further whilst they were attempting to navigate their way clear from the murky waters of the complicated relationship the two had become so entrenched in?

But Harry smiled again and nodded. "Okay," he agreed, trailing next to Draco in silence as they made their way to the dungeons. The common room was nearly empty, most students already at dinner, but Harry and Draco ignored the small number of Slytherins peppered throughout the large chamber.

Draco led the way down a stone passage, finally releasing Harry's hand before opening the door to the room he shared with Blaise. Once they were both inside the dorm, Draco cast several privacy spells before turning to Harry in apprehension, only to find that the Gryffindor had wandered over to Draco's side of the room and was studying his belongings with an intense gaze.

Without warning, he turned to fix Draco with a serious stare, pinning him in place as his eyes ran up and down Draco's body. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked in a low voice, taking a step closer. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, Draco."

With a shake of his head, Draco crossed the room to sink onto his mattress, running his fingers over the silver-and-black bedding. "You don't need to apologize, Harry. Thank you for coming to my defense. It was not something I would have expected."

"Why?" Harry wondered, voice curious but eyes narrowed. "I told you I would never let anybody hurt you and I meant it."

"Yes, you did," Draco agreed softly, staring down at his knees. "But I would hardly have blamed you for leaving me there."

"I would never do that!" Harry argued fiercely, crossing over to sink down next to Draco and taking both of his hands in a strong grip. "God, Draco! Just thinking about it,"—he tightened his hold on Draco's hands—"it makes me want to go back there and kick that stupid sod's arse even more!"

The words brought a ghostly smile to Draco's face. "Oh, Potter. You bloody prince."

Harry laughed softly. "You've definitely called me worse."

"Well," Draco felt the corners of his mouth turn up, "it was either 'bloody prince' or 'over-protective sentimental fool'. Personally, I think you're a bit of both."

"And I think you're worth protecting," Harry said softly, shifting closer.

"Harry…" Draco murmured, unsure of how to respond. They were sitting so close, closer than Draco had ever imagined they would again sit; he had thought, after everything that had happened, he would never get the chance to be close to Harry like this, had thought he would never be able to touch Harry ever again. He hadn't thought that Harry would ever again look at him the way he was at that moment—soft and unguarded, fond and affectionate and protective. If Draco was the type to hope for foolish things, he might even allow himself to believe that Harry was looking at him with love in his eyes, and Draco could feel his own face reflecting that love he so foolishly prayed Harry felt in return.

"I'm sorry for everything I said to you that day," Draco gulped, looking down at his lap. "I'm sorry, Harry, that I wasn't brave enough before. You were right when you said I was scared of everything." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I still am, you know, scared of everything. You were right, I really am a coward. I allowed my own fear to tear us apart. But I'm trying. Because you were also right about deserving someone courageous enough to be seen in public with you. You deserve so much better, Harry."

"No, Draco!" Harry tugged him into a fierce embrace. "Don't say that! _You_ are the one that I want! I didn't mean what I said, I swear it! I was angry and I was wrong and I'm _sorry_!" His voice turned anguished as he clutched Draco tightly to himself. "Why can't you see yourself the way I do? Why can't you recognize that you're more than worthy of being loved, you're more than worthy of me? I'm the one who feels as though I don't deserve _you_, Draco. The way you make me feel…"

Draco's breath caught. Nobody had ever before told him he was worthy of love; no one had ever before told him he was worthy of anything. Ever since he could remember, it had always been Draco telling the entire world that he was the deserving one, far more deserving than most others. But Draco could now recognize that the driving force behind his arrogance had been insecurity. Had he ever truly felt deserving of anything before?

"How—how do I make you feel?" Draco could feel the fear sitting heavy in his throat, forcing the words up past his own terror at asking the question, at hearing the answer.

Harry was silent for several moments, pulling back slightly and reaching down to grasp both of Draco's hands in his own, staring down at the fingers in his grip with determination as he spoke. "You make me feel like I can be anything, like I'm more than just the role I've been forced into my entire life; you make me feel like I'm more than just the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One. You make me feel like an actual _person_. I love you, Draco."

The words made Draco light-headed; if he hadn't already been sitting down, he would have been sure to stagger to his knees in shock. "You—you what?"

"I love you," Harry repeated, face pink.

"You do?" The moment the two words slipped from Draco's mouth, he longed to snatch them back. If Harry was willingly offering his love, why on earth would Draco ever be stupid enough to question it?

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do," he answered softly, eyes searching Draco's face. "I think I have since the first time we kissed. Maybe even earlier."

"Harry, I…" Draco wasn't sure if he had ever had a harder time forcing a confession up his throat than he did at that moment, "I—I love you, too."

The biggest smile Draco had ever seen from Harry spread across the brunet's face only a second before he crushed their mouths together, parting Draco's lips with a passion that left the blond breathless. "You're not a coward, Draco," Harry murmured, speaking the words directly against Draco's panting mouth. "You aren't. And I'm sorry for what I said. It was stupid and unfair and I didn't mean it."

"Not exactly untrue, though," Draco disagreed in a low voice, familiar slithers of shame creeping up on him. He knew better than most just how scared of the world he truly was and, excepting the times he was in Harry's arms, the fear did not seem to be going away.

"It is untrue!" Harry argued fiercely, pinning the blond in place with a gaze full of fire. "Just you being here in this castle proves how brave you really are, Draco! When I said those things…I was so focused on what I wanted, so determined to be just another normal couple that I had forgotten that we really aren't normal people, the two of us, are we? As much as we try to be, the nation doesn't seem willing to let it happen. And I'm sorry for pressuring you and I'm sorry for everything I said, I didn't mean to get so angry." He paused to press a soft kiss to Draco's mouth. "I just—I was afraid that you not wanting to go public meant that your feelings for me weren't the same as my feelings for you. I couldn't stand the thought that you didn't think our relationship was worth fighting for."

"Oh, Harry," Draco sighed, resting their foreheads together. "Now who's the insecure one? My feelings for you have never been…" he took a deep breath, forcing himself to be as honest as Potter, "they haven't ever been the same as yours." The words caused Harry to pull away with a hurt expression, and Draco hastened to continue, "You only recently stopped hating me. You were still hating me at the start of term. You hated me right up until you found me in that corridor. But," his grey eyes searched Harry's own, who was not even blinking as he listened intently to every word Draco spoke, "I haven't felt that way toward you for a very long time. It's true that there were times when I truly did despise you, but those seemed to come and go, the vast majority of them mired in feelings of rejection and self-directed disappointment. You hated me for who I was as a person; I hated you because you were my exact antithesis. You were my opposite in every single way, everything in this world that I was not, everything I should have looked down on and yet, I still wanted to be close to you. I still craved your approval for some reason and yet knew I would never get it.

"I've always felt drawn to you, in a way," Draco admitted, unable to continue looking at Harry while the brunet's expression was so intense. "But for so many years, it seemed as though we were doomed to be enemies, two chess pieces on opposite sides of the board separated by hatred and opposing principles, constantly warring with one another simply for existing. But…" his voice lowered to a whisper, "I had always dreamt of a different reality. Perhaps that's why I threw myself so fully into my role as a teenage Death Eater when the opportunity first presented itself. If we could not ever be on the same side, then I would at least make sure that my side was the right one to be on. Perhaps I was simply trying to prove to us both that you should have been the one to most regret not taking my hand that first day on the train."

"Draco…" Harry whispered, but Draco was not finished. Now that he had given himself permission to be honest, he seemed unable to stop the confessions that poured free from his mouth like bitter-sweet wine, dripping from between his lips to form an oozing, honest puddle of personal admissions on the floor at his feet.

"I can't even tell you how much that initial rejection hurt," Draco admitted, smiling sadly at the memory. "You were the very first person I had ever truly offered friendship to, and you turned me down without hesitation. And for a Weasley, no less, whom I had been taught to scorn practically since birth. And the look on your face when I held out my hand…like you were disgusted I had even been allowed to be born. I had never felt such a fool as when you refused to accept it, standing there like an idiot with my hand stuck out waiting for something I did not know how to obtain."

"Draco, I'm sorry." Harry pulled him into a gentle embrace, laying his head on Draco's shoulder and tucking his face into his throat.

"It's all right, Potter," Draco stroked his back with tender fingers, still amazed that he was allowed to do such a thing. "I understand why you did not wish to get to know me better. I'm very aware of what type of child I was, and I can hardly blame you for disliking me from the very start."

"I definitely don't dislike you now," Harry breathed, and Draco shivered as the other boy reached up to tangle one hand in Draco's hair, fingers raking lightly over his scalp.

"I would hope not," Draco murmured, longing for Potter to tell him once more how much he loved the blond.

Harry suddenly pulled back, hand still combing through Draco's hair but eyes serious. "We're okay, aren't we? We're—I mean, everything is okay between us, isn't it? We're…together now, aren't we? Properly together, I mean? We're not going to go back to sneaking around and hiding, right?" Both his tone and eyes were pleading, and Draco leaned forward to kiss him, smiling into it when Potter melted against him.

After several moments, Draco pulled back to speak. "I would think that would be rather hard now, seeing as I was the one to kiss you in front of at least thirty other students. I'm sure by now there is not a single person in Hogwarts who does not know about it."

"Yeah, you did do that, didn't you?" Harry grinned for a moment before appearing serious once more. "And you're okay with that? You don't mind everybody knowing about us?"

Smiling softly, Draco shook his mind. "No, Harry, I don't mind. I will admit that it's a rather daunting prospect of facing the nation knowing that the only people who approve of our relationship are the two of us, but…"

"But?" Harry prodded, his hold on Draco tightening.

Draco took a deep breath. "But I love you and I trust you and I really do believe that we can weather their disapproval and make it out the other end of the storm intact. I believe that our feelings for one another are stronger than whatever ignorant comments are thrown at us from people neither of us has ever met. You're the only person whose opinion matters."

Harry stared at him for nearly a minute. "I love you so much, Draco."

Draco smiled, the expression vanishing in surprise as he suddenly found himself flat on his back, looking up at a tousle-haired Harry Potter looming over him.

"I love you," he repeated, fingers beginning to unbutton and part Draco's clothing until he found the bare skin of Draco's chest.

Draco inhaled sharply as Harry ran both hands over his skin with hungry fingers, ducking his head to kiss Draco with a passion that made the blond feel as though he was falling and floating at the exact same time, as though his insides had somehow become lighter than air.

"Christ, Draco," Harry murmured against his lips, hands still exploring his body, "_Christ_, I want you."

"So _have _me then," Draco pleaded, feeling nearly desperate. "Touch me already, Harry, _fuck, _I'm yours!"

"Yes, you are," Potter growled, shifting lower to spread open-mouthed kisses down his throat and across his chest, nibbling at a hip bone and sucking bruises into every inch of flesh he seemed able to find. All Draco was able to do was moan in encouragement as Harry reached down to fumble with the fastenings to Draco's trousers, tugging them down his legs and leaving him completely bare.

A sharp cry tore from Draco's throat as Harry's lips wrapped around his cock, tongue sliding wetly over the shaft as Harry bobbed his head before pulling back to the tip with a hard suck, tongue dipping into the slit and causing Draco to shudder.

"Oh, god, yes!" he moaned, both hands clenched tightly in Harry's hair. "Merlin, Harry, that feels incredible!"

Harry pulled back to catch his breath for a moment. "I won't stop then," he smirked, eyes sparkling as he lowered his head and settled his mouth back around Draco.

The pace continued as Draco groaned and thrashed, panting wildly as he stared down the length of his body at the incredibly arousing sight of Harry's dark head bobbing up and down, at the sight of his own prick disappearing over and over into Harry's wet mouth.

"Oh fuck, Harry, please don't stop, you're brilliant, you're perfect, _please_! Fuck, please don't stop," Draco babbled mindlessly, knowing he was only seconds away from exploding. In the next breath, he clenched his eyes shut tight as an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashed into him, swept over him, submerging him beneath its heavy weight as he twisted and moaned, Harry holding him in place as his mouth slid to the very tip of Draco's cock, sucking softly as Draco bucked his hips before finally sinking back into the mattress, panting breathlessly. "Fuck, Potter," he murmured, feeling his pulse race as he attempted to catch his breath.

Harry grinned up at him, climbing back up Draco's body to claim his mouth in a kiss. Tasting himself on Potter's tongue made the blood rush harder through his veins, and Draco wrapped himself fully around the boy in his arms, heart feeling like it might just burst from the amount of affection he felt for the brunet.

Rolling them both over, Draco began to return every favor, tugging at Harry's clothing until the Gryffindor was just as bare as Draco, grey eyes sliding up and down the other boy's body appreciatively. They had been intimate before, of course, but those had all been quick fumblings in darkened broom cupboards. Never had Draco had the chance to actually _see_ Harry, study him in the light and follow every hardened line on his body with his fingers.

"Draco?" Harry's voice was quiet, sounding hesitant and unsure, and Draco softened as he bent down to kiss the brunet.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," he murmured, feeling Harry smile against his lips.

"Me neither," he agreed, sighing as Draco copied Harry's moves from earlier and began to kiss his way down his throat and chest, stroking the skin of the brunet's abdomen with his hands before following the trail with his tongue, licking every muscled bump on Harry's firm stomach until his hands were twisted almost painfully in Draco's hair as he groaned and flailed.

Feeling nervous—despite this being far from their first time—Draco finally shifted lower, wrapping one palm around Harry's cock before guiding the tip into his mouth and pinning Harry's hips to the bed as the other boy thrust up sharply. Feeling wicked, Draco teased him for long moments, stroking lightly along the shaft as he wrapped his tongue around the very tip, until, without warning, he took Harry in as deeply as he could, smiling internally at the grateful cry that escaped the other boy. Hollowing his cheeks, Draco began to pull back slowly, wanting to take his time to build a rhythm but speeding up when Harry's hands tightened even further in his hair. Feeling how close Potter was to coming, Draco flattened his tongue along the shaft, increasing his pace until he felt nearly dizzy with how fast his head was bobbing up and down. A shudder wracked Harry's entire body as his hips twitched desperately, head thrown back as he came with a moan.

"Fuck, Draco," he panted, gently untangling his fingers from Draco's hair before tugging the blond up the bed and wrapping him in a breathless embrace. "God, fuck, do I love you."

The words caused a smile to slip across Draco's face, one he could not have fought against even if he'd tried. "As you should, Potter," he said playfully, kissing Harry's shoulder lightly, "I don't do that for anyone else, you know."

"You better not, Malfoy," Harry warned with a grin, throwing one leg over Draco and burying his face in the crook of Draco's neck.

_As if I could ever want anyone else,_ Draco thought to himself, stroking Harry's back with the fingers of one hand. "Nobody else," Draco promised, knowing that he hardly even needed to say the words. Nobody else wanted Draco and he did not want anybody but Potter.

Harry pressed a kiss to the skin directly above Draco's heart with a sigh. "Nobody else," he agreed, and although Draco could not see it, he could hear the smile in Potter's voice.

Returning the heartfelt sigh, Draco twisted around until he managed to tug the blanket up around the two of them before settling more comfortably beneath Potter's warmth, happy to remain there for the rest of his life.

He knew he never wanted to be anywhere else.

**Part 10**

The next morning found Harry standing outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room, hands in his pockets as he whistled happily. The stone passage slid open to reveal a group of Slytherin fourth-years, whose eyes all widened the moment they spotted Harry leaning casually against the opposite wall. Nodding at them, Harry craned his neck to see past them, trying to spot Draco.

Pulling the Marauder's Map from his pocket, he glanced it over, noting with a grin that Draco had just left his dorm room. Excitement mounting, he waited for the blond to appear, desperate to find out if the previous day had actually happened or if it had been nothing more than a dream. Would Draco kiss Harry when he saw him? Or would he hesitate? Would he hold Harry's hand and allow the brunet to walk him to the Great Hall for breakfast? Or would he turn away before Harry even had a chance to greet him?

The wall slid open once more and Harry felt his heart rate triple as he met the surprised gaze of Draco Malfoy. The astonishment on his face quickly melted away to be replaced by a smile, and Harry felt as though his heart might just crack from happiness at the sight.

Stepping close, Draco placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, head ducked down shyly as he murmured, "Good morning."

"Very good morning," Harry agreed, tilting Draco's face up to meet him in a kiss. The kiss was soft and chaste, not lasting more than a few seconds but seeming to snatch the air straight from Harry's lungs. "I came to walk you to breakfast."

Cheeks pink, Draco scoffed, but Harry could see the pleasure on his face. "What am I, your girlfriend, Potter?"

Harry laughed. "I'd definitely be a bit worried about your cock size if you were, Malfoy."

Shaking his head in amusement, Draco stepped back and gestured for Harry to lead the way, blushing deliciously when Harry reached out one hand to lace their fingers together. The two were chuckling quietly to one another as they reached the Great Hall, but the smiles vanished as silence descended at their entrance, every student turning to openly stare at the two boys.

Glaring, Harry tightened his hold on Draco's hand, daring anybody to make a derogatory remark. Turning to the blond, he found him pink-cheeked and staring at the floor, but with a look of determination on his face.

"Come sit with me," Harry said suddenly, tugging lightly at Draco's hand.

Draco appeared confused by the request. "What?"

"Come eat breakfast with me," Harry jerked his head in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "Please?"

Eyes wary, Draco nodded as he took a hesitant step in the direction of the Gryffindors, and Harry couldn't help the relieved smile he felt slide across his face. Leading the way, he towed Malfoy over to where Ron and Hermione already sat, the two sitting side-by-side with a plate across from them clearly meant for Harry.

Sinking down before it, he smiled up at Draco as the blond took the seat next to him, squeezing his hand before finally releasing it. As Draco sat, Harry was relieved to hear the Hall gradually begin to fill with chatter once more. He turned his head to find Draco appearing somewhat lost, staring around himself as though he did not recognize the Hall from where he was now sat.

The urge to lean over and kiss his cheek was nearly overwhelming but Harry fought against it, unsure how comfortable Draco would initially be with public displays of affection, especially considering the amount of attention they were still receiving. Ignoring the sets of eyes he could feel burning into the two of them, Harry poured some coffee out for them both, handing Draco's his first before reaching for the sugar bowl and offering it to the blond, who shook his head and proceeded to drink his coffee scalding and black.

"Good morning, Harry, Malfoy," Hermione said, nodding at the two of them.

"Granger, Weasley," Draco nodded back, but Harry noticed the way his eyes seemed unable to look at the two of them, staring down at Hermione's plate, instead.

"I won't lie," Ron took a large bite of toast as he spoke, crunching through his next words, "it's bloody weird seeing you sit here, Malfoy. I don't think I've ever seen a Slytherin even cross over to this side of the room, before."

"You don't seem to be the only one who finds it strange," Draco said pointedly, one eyebrow raised as he looked around at the large number of students still staring at the two of them, most glancing away when they saw that he had noticed them watching. "But Harry promised me sexual favors if I were to sit with him at breakfast," Draco continued unexpectedly, causing Ron to snort loudly as Harry nearly choked on his coffee.

"Did I?" he chuckled, shaking his head as he attempted to breathe air into his lungs instead of burning liquid.

"Of course," Draco responded smoothly, a tiny smile curling his mouth, "Why do you think I'm here?"

Ron snorted again, shaking his head at Harry and shrugging.

"Oh, listen, mate," Ron said suddenly, appearing serious. "I really need to talk to you about something. Warn you, more like. The both of you, really."

"Later, Ron," Hermione interrupted, shaking her head imperceptibly at him.

"What is it?" Harry asked, feeling anxiety wrap around his heart and squeeze. Warn him about what? It already sounded far too ominous for Harry's liking.

"Ginny," Ron blurted, shooting both Harry and Hermione an apologetic glance.

"What about Ginny?" Harry asked through numb lips, voice heavy with dread. He felt Malfoy stiffen next to him and was scared to look over to see what expression he would find on Draco's face.

"Well, erm," Ron sounded frazzled, raking a hand through his hand in a move almost identical to Harry's, "she's pretty well narked off at the moment, to be honest. 'Cos of what happened yesterday, with the two of you, and now the whole school knows about you, and she's just…not exactly happy about it, if you must know."

Harry felt his insides squirm with guilt. "I told her I was seeing someone, though."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, still sounding uncomfortable. "But she thought it was a girl. And—no offense, Malfoy—but she never would have guessed it would be a Slytherin. And definitely not, you know, _him_. And I think a part of her didn't actually believe that you were. I think she just thought you were saying that to get rid of her."

"I wouldn't lie to her like that," Harry said sharply, hoping that Ginny would not be angry enough to confront Draco about their relationship.

"I know that," Ron held up his hands placatingly. "I'm just warning you for your own sake. She barged into the dorm last night and demanded to know if it was actually true, what everybody was saying happened. And she's my sister, what was I supposed to do? So I told her that it was and she wanted to know exactly how long the two of you have been involved, so I told her it was nearly the whole term, and she kind of, um, you know…" he shrugged uneasily, "lost it a bit. She, erm, wasn't very nice about either one of you, to tell you the truth. And I think we all already know that the girl has a bit of a temper. So, I just wanted to give both of you a warning in case she tries to approach either one of you. If she does, my advice is just to run. Fast."

"Right," Harry sighed heavily. "Thanks, Ron."

"It's just a shock to her, Harry," Hermione said quietly, eyes darting between Harry and Draco. "Ron and I have had much longer to get used to the idea of the two of you together and yet I would be lying if I said I didn't still find just the thought of it strange, let alone the reality of seeing it with my own eyes. Just give her some time to get her head around the idea."

Nodding in resignation, Harry finally looked over to Draco, only to find the blond silent and half-hidden behind his hair, curled in on himself as he glared down at his lap. Hoping that Malfoy would be willing to accept his comfort in public, Harry reached out to twine their hands together, fingers interwoven and resting on Draco's thigh.

"I really am sorry, you know," said Draco suddenly, head snapping up to look directly at Ron and Hermione for the first time since sitting down. "About everything. I can understand her upset and mistrust about our relationship. I know that I don't really deserve for the two of you to accept me so readily into Harry's life, but I do want you to know how grateful I am to be given the chance."

They both stared at Malfoy in surprise, Ron's mouth hanging open in shock. "He apologized," Ron said, sounding gobsmacked. "Malfoy actually apologized for something. I've never heard him apologize for anything. Harry, did you know he could apologize?"

Hermione seemed to recover first. "Oh, Ronald, stop it, honestly." Frowning, Hermione turned a speculative gaze to Malfoy, staring at him in silence for long moments before casting a discreet privacy ward around the four of them.

"I realize this isn't the best place for this conversation," Draco said uncomfortably, fidgeting in his seat but falling silent when Hermione held up one hand.

"I think this conversation is rather overdue, considering how long the two of you have already been together," Hermione responded quietly, settling both elbows on the table and resting her chin on the backs of her intertwined fingers as she gazed at Draco.

Draco's eyes dropped as he nodded. "You're right, of course, Granger."

"She always is," Ron said fondly, nudging her arm.

"Now," she continued, sparing an affectionate glance for Ron before turning her attention back to Draco, "I'm willing to accept your apology and put everything behind us, considering that Harry here has already forgiven you and clearly cares for you very deeply, as you seem to care for him. And I can see that you're no longer the person you once were. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you really are a changed person, with a new perspective on the world that you did not have before. I'm willing to accept that you were raised to view certain things in a way that you no longer do, and that you really are regretful of the choices you made in the past and how you chose to behave based on who you were expected to be.

"But, Malfoy," her eyes narrowed, "my priority here is not myself or my own feelings. My main concern here is Harry. Ron and I are not at any risk of being hurt by you, but Harry is. So, I will accept your apology on this one condition," she leaned forward, pinning Draco effectively into place with both her soft tone and fierce expression, "and that is that you never, _ever_ give Ron or me any reason to regret accepting it. Don't ever make either of us regret having given you the benefit of the doubt today, because this opportunity will not come twice."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes at her overprotectiveness but couldn't help the swoop of pleasure it sent through him to see his friends defend him so adamantly, even if he personally thought it was a bit unnecessary. He felt Draco's hand tighten around his own a second before the blond looked up to meet Hermione's gaze, nodding seriously.

"I promise, Granger."

She relaxed with a nod, canceling the privacy spell still in place around them. "Then I accept. Ron?"

Ron shrugged as he turned back to his breakfast. "I personally still think the whole thing is hilarious. And whatever gets Harry to finally stop whinging on and on about Malfoy, 'cos so far, their being together is the only thing I've ever seen make him stop."

Harry glared at the redhead, turning it on Malfoy as the blond sniggered softly.

"Like you were ever any better," Ron rolled his eyes at Draco, earning himself a second glare.

"As if I ever whinged about this one," he said in a haughty voice, jerking his chin in Harry's direction.

"Right," Ron responded sarcastically, shaking his head in amusement, "you never once complained about him or targeted him at all, did you? Please," he guffawed, "did you think everyone went to such extremes to get his attention, then?"

Malfoy's glare vanished as he blushed, ducking his head and allowing his hair to swing forward.

Harry laughed. "Well, he definitely never failed to get it, that's for damn sure."

"Must you agree with his lies, Potter?" Draco sighed in exasperation, shaking his head in embarrassed amusement.

"Only when they're true," Harry grinned, laughing when Draco snatched his hand away with a huff.

"See if I ever eat another meal with you," he muttered, succeeding in stretching Harry's smile.

"I thought I was meant to reward you with sexual favors for your being here?"

Draco shook his head in amusement. "And you most certainly will be, after subjecting me to all this."

Harry grinned widely. "I can't wait."

"Okay," Ron interrupted in a firm voice, "I think I changed my mind, it's no longer funny to me. I officially revoke my blessing unless you promise there will be no more talk of sexual favors between the two of you. Especially while I'm trying to eat."

Chuckling, Harry shrugged. "Your fault for trying to eat around us when we clearly have sexual favors to discuss. Lots of sexual favors."

"Aaand, I'm done," Ron grumbled, pushing his nearly-empty plate away from himself as he muttered under his breath.

Laughing, Harry turned to exchange a warm look with Draco, chuckling as Ron made gagging noises across from them. Draco smiled shyly at the brunet as Harry continued to stare, earning even louder gagging noises from Ron as a result. Ignoring the redhead, Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek, chuckling when he blushed.

"Potter," he murmured, cheeks pinks, "We're in public, you realize. That sort of thing is hardly appropriate."

Across from them, they heard Ron snort loudly. "Aren't you the one who snogged his face off in front of half the castle only yesterday, Malfoy? But a kiss on the cheek is inappropriate?"

Flushing harder, Draco turned to him with one eyebrow raised. "Point well made, Weasley," he said smoothly, earning a confused look from Ron before suddenly tugging Harry into a deep kiss right there in the Great Hall. They heard gasps echoing around the room but they both ignored the sounds of shock rippling around them, happily sinking into the embrace. Finally, Malfoy pulled away with a smile, the expression turning into a smirk as he turned to Ron. "So, Weasley, you were saying something about appropriateness?"

"Next time, the two of you can eat at the Slytherin table," he grumbled.

Harry chuckled at the cross expression on Ron's face as the whispers throughout the Great Hall slowly began to fade.

* * *

"Harry! Oi!" a voice called loudly behind the two of them, and Harry froze as he recognized it.

_Shit,_ he thought in sudden panic. _Ginny._

They had managed to avoid her for two whole days, but it seemed like she had finally tracked them down. Heart pounding nervously, Harry considered telling Draco to make a run for it and leave him behind as a willing sacrifice so the Gryffindor could heroically and very nobly give his life in the upcoming battle with the redheaded ball of fury stalking closer with every hard footstep. _Come on, Harry,_ he shook his head, _you've faced Voldemort, for Christ's sake. You've destroyed Horcruxes. You can definitely face your ex-girlfriend. _Hopefully_._

Draco's hand tightened around his own as Ginny marched up to them and crossed her arms, glaring fiercely. "I need to talk to you, Harry."

"Er, hi, Ginny," Harry greeted awkwardly, reaching up with the hand not tangled with Draco's own and raking nervous fingers through his hair.

Draco said nothing, face hardened into concrete as he straightened his back and raised one eyebrow at Ginny in challenge.

"I need to talk to you, Harry," she repeated through gritted teeth. "Alone," she snapped at Draco, who still had not released his hand.

"I dunno, Gin," Harry stalled, searching for the quickest escape route. "We're meant to be meeting up with Ron and Hermione, actually, so…"

"So they can wait," she replied coolly. "They'll be fine. But if you think you can continue to just avoid me like this, Harry James Potter, you better fucking think again."

Sighing, Harry turned to Draco beseechingly, silently asking with his eyes if Draco was all right with it. Returning the sigh, Draco nodded, gesturing to the empty classroom behind them. Harry offered him a small smile, squeezing his hand before turning to Ginny, who was glaring vicious daggers at the both of them.

"Er, we can talk in here, then, I suppose," Harry told her, squeezing Draco's hand once before dropping it to step past him and open the door to the unused room.

Ginny marched in after him, back ramrod straight and seething with anger. Feeling only slightly scared for his life, Harry followed her, allowing the creaky door to swing shut behind him. He turned to find Ginny casting a silencing charm over the room.

"Don't want your boyfriend listening in," she said in a cold voice, arms folded and every vitriolic word dripping contempt. "I mean, that is what Slytherins do best, isn't it? Sneak around and eavesdrop? It's like spreading lies is its own sport to them, isn't it?"

"Did you bring me in here just to insult Draco?" Harry asked coolly, copying Ginny's stance. "Because I don't have to be here, Ginny, I can leave right now. If you think for one second that I'm going to listen to that sort of—"

"I brought you in here to ask you why you never told me!" she interrupted, face flushing red as she took an angry step closer, dropping her arms down to her sides, both hands clenched into tight fists. "Do you have any idea what it was like to hear something like this from other people? Do you have _any _idea what it was like to hear from about a hundred different people that _he_"—she spat the word—"is the one you're now with?!"

"I'm sorry," Harry said uncomfortably, shifting his weight between feet. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that or embarrass you or anything. But…I mean, I did tell you I was seeing someone…"

"Yeah, _someone_!" she snapped, "Not Draco fucking Malfoy! Not another bloke! You could have at least told me you were gay, Harry! You could have at least told me _that,_ if nothing else! I would have understood _that_! But no, you wanted to completely knock me off my broom when it went public, didn't you?!"

"I'm not gay, though," Harry blurted, the room falling into silence as Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Well, you sure do a damn good impression of it," she drawled sarcastically.

"That's not how it works, Gin," Harry sighed. "Do you really think I was faking our entire relationship? You think I was never actually attracted to you or ever had real feelings for you? You think I was lying every time I told you how much you meant to me? You think I was only with you to, what? Make it seem like I was straight? Make it seem like I had a girlfriend? Do you really honestly think I would ever just use you like that?"

Ginny continued to glare, but Harry could also see hurt in the brown of her eyes and he grimaced as he realized that yes, that was exactly what she had thought.

"Ginny, I would never do that to you," he said softly, risking taking one small step forward. "But those promises I made you back when we broke up…I was a different person before the end of the war," he frowned, wondering how best to explain it to Ginny in actual words, "and I'm a different person now. And I'm sorry, Ginny, I really, really am, but…" he took a deep breath, "but I can't force things that I don't feel. I just…don't see you that way anymore. I still care about you, but it's different now. It's not the same as it once was."

"So you're saying you love _him_?" she asked angrily, mouth trembling. "You're saying that this really is the end for us? You're choosing _him?"_

"Yeah, I am," Harry said, still speaking in a soft voice, "I didn't go looking for it and I sure as hell wasn't expecting it, but…"

"You should have told me!" Ginny argued, voice weakening as she tried to hold onto her anger, eyes bloodshot as the frown on her face gradually began to lessen.

"Yeah, maybe I should have," Harry agreed, scratching the back of his neck as he wondered what the next best move would be. "I still want you in my life, you know," he said truthfully, startling her as she stared at him as though trying to find any untruths in the statement. "I still want us to be friends and everything. I really do mean it when I tell you how much I still care about you. I mean, I've known you since I was twelve," he smiled, earning an eye roll from Ginny.

"You mean when I was too scared to even be in the same room with you?"

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Don't you count that as the first time we met, too?"

Ginny said nothing, staring away from him in the direction of the far wall. "I'll try, Harry, but I don't think I'll be ready for friendship for a while," she finally admitted in a low voice. "And I don't know how long it will take me to be able to see the two of you together, or if I'll ever even be able to."

"Just let me know when you are," he said with a sad smile, unsure of what else to say, "You know how to find me. And besides," his smile widened by a fraction, "I'm not the center of the universe, you know."

A reluctant smile flashed across her face before it was gone, replaced by a heavy sigh. "Guess you better not keep—" she seemed to struggle with words for a moment, "_him_ waiting too long, or anything."

"Yeah," Harry murmured. Offering her another sad smile, Harry turned to leave, one hand on the knob before her voice stopped him.

"Harry," she called, and he turned back to face her, eyebrows raised in inquiry. "Are you happy?" she asked softly, face red and eyes finally devoid of the rage that had been rolling off her in waves when they had first entered the room.

"Yeah," Harry said, a sincere smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, Gin, I really am."

"Okay, then," she nodded, eyes bright with unshed tears and hands trembling as she raised her arms to wrap around herself protectively. "Okay then, Harry. As long as—as long as you're happy."

"Thank you," he said softly as he twisted the knob and stepped from the room, instantly spotting Draco leaning against the opposite wall, twisting a thick lock of hair around his index finger before letting it fall loose, repeating the action twice more before he glanced up and noticed Harry watching him.

"So," he shrugged away from the wall and strode slowly over to the brunet. "How many hexes did you have to deflect?"

"None," Harry chuckled, slipping his hand back into Draco's and beginning to lead them down the corridor once more. "We just talked. It went a lot better than I was expecting, actually."

"So are things…okay, then, between the two of you?" Draco asked cautiously, and Harry squeezed his hand in comfort.

"I think they will be one day. But when that day comes," Harry smiled and pulled them to a halt, stroking his nails through the ends of Draco's long silken hair, "it'll be friendship between us and nothing more. I meant it when I said I don't see her that way any longer. She asked me if I'm really choosing you over everything else, and I said yes. And then she asked me if I'm happy, and I said yes." He bent forward to press a kiss to Draco's mouth just as the rain outside started to fall, making Harry smile at the sound. "Just like our first kiss, hmm?" he gestured toward the window, where they could see raindrops falling in sheets around the castle, starting to slowly melt the surface of the snow still clinging to the ground far below them.

"How did I ever end up with someone as ridiculously sentimental as you?" Draco shook his head fondly as they turned to continue down the corridor.

"Luck," Harry grinned.

"Sure, if that's what you want to call it," Draco retorted.

Harry snorted but made no comment as they continued on their way, listening to their own footsteps echo back to them before Draco suddenly pulled them to a halt. Harry turned to face him curiously, surprise growing as he found Draco pink-cheeked.

"I'm happy too, you know," he blurted, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at Harry. "If anyone asked me, I would say yes too. Just so you know."

The unexpected confession earned a smile from Harry, stretching so wide he was sure his face was seconds away from breaking in half. He wrapped both arms around Draco and pulled him into his chest, smiling at him once more before leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth. Draco returned it without hesitation, resting one hand around the back of Harry's neck and the other on Harry's shoulder. Neither of them said any words—they didn't need to. Everything they needed to say was being conveyed clearly enough, both understanding one other perfectly; knowing each other deeply, faults and all, regrets and past mistakes, hopes and expectations.

It was a long time before they moved from that spot, allowing the rest of the world to fall away as they traded kisses full of fire in an empty corridor to the gentle sounds of rain falling.

And nothing in Harry's life had ever been so perfect.

**THE END**


End file.
